her face hardened. “But if Val wanted it, there must be something important.”
Tristan didn’t know what to say to that. There was so much between Veronyka and Val that he didn’t understand, and he knew, somehow, that he shouldn’t ask about. It was clear that Veronyka was still sorting out her own feelings on the matter, even though Val had killed Xephyra here, in this very building. The fact of the matter was, Veronyka loved Val, and there was something wonderful about the fierceness of it—that she could love Val, even after everything she’d done.
“So what news from the travelers?” Veronyka asked, putting the box into Xephyra’s saddlebag—or trying to, as Rex and Xephyra were nipping and jostling and making it difficult for her. Tristan leaned over to help, holding the bag steady so Veronyka could rearrange a few items to fit the box inside.
Tristan’s hand dropped. He’d forgotten. “We need to get back to the Eyrie immediately.”
“What, why? What happened?” she asked, turning around and leaving the box hanging halfway out of the bag.
“Empire soldiers have been spotted along the border.”
* * *
As they prepared to fly back to camp, Tristan filled Veronyka in on all he’d heard from the travelers. It had been a family of Pyraean tinkers who had a connection to the Office for Border Control that allowed them to travel in and out of the empire, visiting Runnet and Vayle along with some of the smaller communities scattered between them—before returning again. This time while passing through Runnet they’d heard some rumors of groups of soldiers collecting along the border in the west, near Ferro.
“How many?” Veronyka asked.
“Hundreds, apparently,” Tristan said grimly, Veronyka’s dire face mirroring his own initial reaction.
“Do we know what direction they were going?” Veronyka asked as she climbed into her saddle. “What their target is?”
Tristan settled into his own saddle. “Wherever they go—whatever damage they do—I think it’s safe to say their target is us.”
They returned to camp and packed up quickly, making their return to the Eyrie only a bit later than Tristan had originally intended. He decided not to share the news of the soldiers with the rest of his patrol. They would find out eventually, and he didn’t want them to suggest doing the thing he very much wanted to do himself—which was to head south toward the border and find out more. Tristan’s orders had been to fly straight to Vayle and then to fly right back. Even visiting Veronyka’s cabin was technically forbidden, and he knew the commander would be furious if they tried to scout empire soldier movements without first reporting to him. Tristan’s position as patrol leader was still very much new—and his father wouldn’t hesitate to strip the honor if Tristan failed to perform his duties correctly.
He also didn’t want to cause a panic among the local villagers. No doubt they’d hear the news from the traveling tinkers when they arrived later that day, but Tristan didn’t want to be there when they did. He knew they’d demand answers that he couldn’t give.
Not yet, he told himself firmly. His father couldn’t ignore this. He’d been resisting action for weeks, but he could do so no longer.
By late afternoon, they were flying past the perimeter patrol and signaling their approach. The sun was hot and low in the sky, and a steady trail of perspiration trickled down Tristan’s back despite the brisk winds from Rex’s speedy flight. Of course, it wasn’t just the weather that was making Tristan sweat. He was about to face his first real challenge as a patrol leader, his first chance to speak up and—hopefully—have his opinions heard. So far he’d been quiet in their Rider Council meetings, trying to listen and learn and prove to his father that promoting him wasn’t a mistake.
Now he had vital information to share, and it was exhilarating to finally be a part of the decision making.
When they touched down inside the Eyrie, Veronyka moved to unsaddle Rex—a general part of her duties as underwing was to help with tasks such as this—but Tristan grabbed her outstretched hand.
“Lys, do you mind?” he asked, calling out to his cousin and gesturing to Rex and Xephyra.
“You got it,” Lysandro replied with a nod, dropping his saddle to the ground and reaching for Rex. Veronyka hesitated. Lysandro was a master, after all, and she was an apprentice—and Latham stood nearby, eyebrows raised in silent reproach. But Tristan ignored them.
“Come on,” Tristan said to Veronyka, tugging her arm.