I overheard him whispering to Petyr after the match that you were afraid to hit me.”
“I hit you all the time!” Tristan said, outraged, and her lips twitched in a smile. “In training, obviously,” he muttered, realizing the way his words sounded. He’d accidentally given her a black eye two weeks ago, and the barest hints of green still colored her golden-brown skin. He’d been horrified at first, but Veronyka had only touched the swelling gently before smiling, wearing the purple bruises like a badge of honor. “And Petyr’s just jealous.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Veronyka said. “This place is too small, and everyone loves gossip. One day I’m the stable boy Nyk, the next I’m a girl, a brand-new apprentice—and the commander’s son’s favorite. You know what they’ll say, how they’ll spin it. They’ll say that we’re—that you and I…”
She trailed off, and silence fell between them.
“So what if we were?” Tristan asked, and when her eyes widened, he hastily continued. “I mean, it used to happen all the time, didn’t it? Mated pairs, or whatever.” Her eyes were round as plates now, and Tristan’s cheeks were hotter than Rex in a fire dive. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck, glancing away from her and forcing a determinedly nonchalant shrug. “Let them talk.”
The truth was, the other apprentices had been gossiping about Veronyka and Tristan since she’d first arrived. While Latham would occasionally moon about girls and Anders would laugh and tease and try to push everyone’s buttons, Tristan had always been more reserved. He’d never shown much interest in the others—for friendship or romance—but then Nyk the new stable boy turned up and the two became inseparable. It didn’t matter that it was his father’s order that started it; they’d seen the way Tristan looked at Nyk, noticed the change that Veronyka never could because she hadn’t known him before. No matter how innocent their relationship—even though Tristan had long wished it were otherwise—something about being the commander’s solitary, standoffish son made him an entertaining target, and they loved to try to get a rise out of him.
“It’s different for you,” Veronyka said. “You’re the one in power. I’m the one who looks like I’m clinging to your phoenix tail.”
Rex let out a reproachful croak and shuffled forward; Veronyka smiled at him, patting his outstretched beak.
Tristan watched them, thinking over her words. He realized it was exactly how he’d felt being the commander’s son, as if no matter how hard he worked or how well he performed, everyone would assume he’d been given an easy path.
“Anyone who sees you fly will know that you’ve earned every single thing you have—and you’ll earn much more, before all this is done,” he said, hoping to reassure her, but there was a heaviness settling into his stomach. If just being friends compromised Veronyka’s integrity and her hopes for the future, how could Tristan ever hope for anything more?
“All my life,” she began, “my s-sister”—she stuttered slightly on the word—“treated me like I was made of glass. Not precious, but fragile. Useless.”
“I do not think you’re useless,” Tristan interrupted, and she smiled widely. His stomach leapt at the sight.
“I know,” she said, before the grin slipped off her face. “I just… I hate this, Tristan. I hate sitting here… I feel useless.”
Her voice was tired now as she leaned back against the wall, staring off into the distance. Heart fluttering, Tristan reached for her, his fingers crawling across the cool stone to find hers in the dark. She stiffened at first, only to grip his hand hard.
“Yeah,” Tristan said, sliding closer to her and gently tracing his thumb across her knuckles. “Me too.”
* * *
After walking Veronyka back to the apprentice barracks, Tristan roamed the stronghold. It was well after dinner, and the place was deserted.
He was considering walking the ramparts or visiting Wind in the stables when he spotted his father cutting across the cobblestones toward the dining hall. Tristan hastened his footsteps to catch up to him, surprised to see him out so late. His father usually retired early to work, the lantern glow from his chambers spilling out the windows and into the courtyard well into the night.
His father turned at the sound of Tristan’s footsteps. “Tristan,” he said in surprise, his brows furrowing. “What are you doing out here at this late hour? Did Beryk send you?”
“No one sent me,” Tristan assured him. “I was just…” He trailed off. He wasn’t really doing anything.
The commander’s gaze