steady pump of wingbeats filled the air. In the distance, a Phoenix Rider approached.
Veronyka.
Tristan’s knees buckled in relief to see her emerge from that explosion unharmed, mounted and riding Xephyra. He could face whatever was coming now that he knew she was okay.
Val and her phoenix, on the other hand, were nowhere to be seen. A million questions flitted through Tristan’s mind, but he allowed himself to enjoy the sight of Veronyka flying toward him before Rolan’s archers raised their bows and aimed them at her.
“No!” Tristan cried out, but Rolan had already called them off.
His expression was hungry. Veronyka was what Rolan truly wanted, and Tristan was just a means to an end, a way to return things to the way they were before this battle had broken out. Rolan stepped nearer to Tristan, ready to use him as a shield, ensuring that Veronyka didn’t try to attack. She was followed closely behind by the rest of the Riders, including Tristan’s father, all of whom had abandoned the fight in the face of this new development.
They flew hard in Tristan’s direction, but Veronyka led the charge.
She looked murderous. Tristan had never seen her look so fierce, so dangerous.
She was beautiful.
He could see the Ashfire in her as she soared through the air, the legacy of queens going back centuries. The bravery of Nefyra. The strength of Lyra. The leadership of Elysia.
And if history had taught him anything, you did not cross an Ashfire queen.
As Xephyra drew near, she slowed her pace, but only just. Veronyka stood in the saddle, leaping from her back onto the steps of the pavilion without missing a beat. She looked worse for wear: Her clothes were torn and burned in several places, and the scent of smoke and ash clung to her skin, which was covered in bloody cuts and smears of dirt. But she’d gotten away from Val, and she strode forward with unerring confidence, ignoring the soldiers standing on either side, clearing a path, her eyes fixed on Rolan.
A flicker of emotion crossed her face when she spotted Tristan in his clutches, but she didn’t waver.
“Ah, my betrothed,” Rolan said as she stepped into the middle of the pavilion, forcing lightness into his voice. Seeing that Veronyka was unarmed, he stepped around Tristan, though he made no order to have the knife pressing against Tristan’s throat removed. If anything, the soldiers that held Tristan’s arms tightened their grip. “I see you’re one of them,” Rolan added with mild disappointment, indicating the Riders that were flying toward them. “Another detail your sister failed to mention.”
Veronyka ignored him. “Release Tristan at once,” she snarled, “and I’ll come quietly.”
“A fair trade,” Rolan said, tugging on Tristan as Veronyka made to stride forward. Tristan refused to budge. There was nothing fair about that trade, and even if there were, he refused to make it.
“Wait,” came a voice from behind Veronyka. Commander Cassian strode up the steps, while Beryk, Fallon, and Alexiya landed behind him. They, however, remained in their saddles—an intimidating presence for the gathering soldiers, who still outnumbered their own. But these were Phoenix Riders, and if Tristan’s patrol arrived soon, they’d be better matched.
His father strode up the steps and put a hand on Veronyka’s shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.
His face was pained, and Tristan didn’t think it had anything to do with the small wounds he could see on his father’s face and arms. Tristan swallowed thickly, blinking away the tears that pricked behind his eyes as he met Veronyka’s anguished gaze. He shook his head gently, wary of the knife, and her jaw clenched.
Things were not going to be as simple as that. “I am not a fool, Rolan,” Cassian said, his voice steady. “If we make that exchange, you will kill us where we stand. If that fails, you’ll condemn us to the Grand Council instead and have our people destroyed by the empire. You have to give us more than that.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes at his father. Was he giving up his chance to get revenge at the meeting in order to broker a deal with Rolan now? Tristan knew it was the right thing to do—the only thing, in fact, given their current precarious circumstances—but he also knew what it would cost his father to throw away so many weeks of careful planning. To throw away his chance to face Olanna’s murderers.
“More than your lives in this very moment? That’s more than you deserve!” Rolan spat, his irritation