“Who knew grandmas were such bullies?” muttered Sev—overfilled bowl in hand—who had apparently also drawn Agneta’s special attention.
Tristan laughed, and had barely taken his seat when Alexiya strode up to them, her brother Theryn beside her. Well, beside wasn’t the right word. She was walking as quickly as she could, and he was doing his best to keep up.
Tristan expected a message for Veronyka, but Alexiya’s eyes were on him.
“He’s awake.”
A breath whooshed from Tristan’s lungs, and the constant pressing weight on his chest lifted. His father was awake, alive and awake, and the first thing Tristan did when he marched into the sickroom was yell at him.
Alexiya led him back to her mother’s cottage, up the ladder, and into his room. Hestia was just leaving, a tray in hand, and the moment the door shut behind her, Tristan lost it.
“How dare you?” he demanded.
His anger, it seemed, was not a surprise to his father, though he did look a bit frailer than Tristan’s rage was comfortable with. It was hard to scream at a man who was pale and drawn and somehow shrunken in his bedclothes, but Tristan did his best. It was what they were both used to, after all.
The commander did his best too, resuming his usual stiff-lipped disapproval and haughty scowl. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he drawled.
Tristan’s fury increased, even though his father’s voice was raspy and weak, but now that he knew his father wasn’t going to die, all the anger he’d been feeling right up until the man was stabbed came rushing back.
“None of this should have happened,” Tristan said hotly. He couldn’t just stand there and stare at his father’s exhausted eyes and sweaty brow, so he paced. “Not only were you willing to risk Pyra, but you let him get under your skin and inside your guard. There were better ways to handle that situation, and you know it.”
“I agree,” the commander replied mildly.
Tristan glowered. “Oh.”
“I was trying to secure Veronyka’s crown. It’s more important than anything else. War is here, and the throne is empty. We cannot afford to have Avalkyra claim it instead.”
“So you decide to sacrifice all of Pyra?”
“You exaggerate,” the commander said with an impatient wave of the hand.
“And you ignored her wishes, as well as our own mandate. We’re protectors. How could you advocate sacrificing thousands of lives on a bid for the throne?”
“Her wishes are not my command—yet,” he said, though the words lacked heat. “I understand you have feelings for her and that she isn’t just some Phoenix Rider—”
“Damn right she’s not.”
“But,” he continued, “I am her commander. I am still more experienced in this game than either of you. However you view it, we are dealing with forces bigger than Veronyka, than yourself—than the Phoenix Riders or even Pyra. Thousands, as you so put it. So, we must do what is best for the many, not the few. That is the whole point of this—of her heritage and her birthright. To make the empire safe for us and our kind.” He scrubbed his face wearily. “You are thinking too small, convinced you can save everyone, when not everyone can be saved. You sound just like her.”
“Like who, Veronyka?” Tristan asked in confusion.
A beat of silence. “No, not Veronyka. Your mother.”
“My mother,” Tristan repeated flatly, too stunned to say anything else.
“She… Her heart was in the right place,” his father explained. “The same as yours. But she failed to see the phoenix for the feathers. Or rather, since we are in Arboria now, I suppose I should say the forest for the trees.” Tristan continued to gape at him, not comprehending. His father sighed. “Your mother tried to save everyone too, and she paid for it with her own life. She couldn’t see the big picture, the value in alliances and influence, and instead engaged in bold, heroic acts that got her killed.”
Tristan clenched his hands into fists. “As far as I can tell, your strategy didn’t work either—or did you volunteer to be exiled and stripped of your lands, titles, and influence?”
“This isn’t about me. We don’t just fight for the Phoenix Riders or for Pyra. We fight for the Golden Empire and the future of our world.”
* * *
Afterward, Tristan found Veronyka waiting for him at the bottom of the winding stairs, Rex and Xephyra, both saddled, standing just behind her.
She gave him a tense, tentative look, and he didn’t slow his pace or halt his momentum until his hands were in her hair and his mouth pressed to hers. He poured everything into the kiss, and when he finally drew back, she looked slightly dazed.
“Uh, want to go for a fly?” she asked, somewhat breathlessly, and Tristan released her.
“More than anything.”
They didn’t go far, but soared up into the canopy until they found a wide, sturdy branch to settle on. The phoenixes explored nearby, their curiosity at this new landscape limitless, leaving Tristan and Veronyka alone.
He settled himself in the crook of the branch where it met the main trunk, his back against the bark, and Veronyka settled between his legs, leaning her back against his chest. Despite how high up they were, the trees managed to obscure most of the stars, though slices of them could be glimpsed between their heavy boughs.
Tristan relayed some of the conversation with his father.
“And then he said I was trying to save everyone, like my mother.”
Like it was a bad thing. It felt like an insult or an accusation, though Tristan couldn’t figure out why. He also couldn’t understand how they were ever supposed to work and lead together when they seemed to disagree on everything.
He glimpsed the edge of Veronyka’s smile. “He and Olanna must have had some truly epic fights as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just, when I first arrived at the Eyrie, Morra told me a bit about her—about your family. I was, well… quite pissed at you, now I think on it.” Tristan smiled ruefully while dropping a soft kiss onto her collarbone, at the very edge of her bandage. “When she told me the commander was your father, I didn’t have a hard time seeing the connection. But,” she added, as Tristan opened his mouth to object, “Morra insisted you were more like your mother.”
She paused—it was obviously difficult for her to talk about Morra, and he couldn’t blame her. It was hard to reconcile the person they had known with her actions now.
She cleared her throat and continued. “She said that the sooner you accepted that, the easier everything would be.”
“I guess I always imagined my father and I fought because we were alike,” he said. “I saw everything he did as a reflection of my own worst, most stubborn qualities. I assumed that when he looked at me, he saw the same.”
“Maybe he saw something else. Someone he’d loved and lost.”
Her voice was subdued, and Tristan realized she thought Val saw the same thing when she looked at her… not Veronyka, but Pheronia.
Wanting to lighten the mood, Tristan leaned his head back against the rough bark and stared up at a visible patch of stars.
“My nursemaid said their arguments used to shake the house—my mother and father—but that their laughter was louder. Old Ana said she could hear them from the gardens… when they fought and when they made up.” Veronyka turned her head, smirking at the look of disgust on his face. He sighed. “I guess I never realized how much it mirrored myself and my father. Is it possible that all this time he’s been arguing with her, not me?”
“No,” Veronyka said seriously, “it’s definitely been with you.”
Despite everything, he laughed.
“Speaking of family…,” Veronyka said, making the humor dry up inside Tristan’s throat. She shifted gingerly, thanks to her wound, turning in his arms so they were face-to-face. “Kade’s right. We have to do whatever we can to stop Val.”
Even with the possibility of the empire unleashing its full military might on th
eir meager forces, it was the thought of a fight against Val that truly unsettled him. He had yet to see this strix force she commanded, but it wasn’t even that otherworldly foe that he feared. It was Val herself, and the fact that her sights had always been set on Veronyka. Whatever she claimed to covet, Tristan knew she wouldn’t rest until she had Veronyka either by her side or out of the picture entirely.
And the fact that she was a mere shadow magic bond away? That she had nearly gutted Veronyka without ever setting foot in her vicinity was more unsettling than anything that had happened so far. He wanted to protect Veronyka, but it was a fool’s errand. She was the shadowmage, the one with the power and ability to stand against her, the one who understood Val best and could contest her in a bid to claim the empire’s throne.
She was Val’s equal—her better, Tristan believed with all his heart. But it didn’t mean he didn’t fear for Veronyka, for what she might have to endure before all this was through.
What she might have to risk.
“I have a direct link to her mind. I can track her whereabouts, follow her every move, and figure out what she plans to do next.”
“Can you, though?” he asked carefully. “I thought your bond was broken, that you couldn’t sense her like you used to.”
“I can’t,” she admitted reluctantly. “But maybe if I pushed, if I really reached…”
“Isn’t that how she sliced you open the last time?” Tristan asked, his voice rising several octaves.
She blew out a breath and slumped into him. “It just feels… I hate to waste such an advantage. I know she wouldn’t hesitate to use it against me if she could.”
“Then maybe the fact that the bond is damaged is a gift. It puts you both on a more level playing field. If she can’t reach you and you can’t reach her, then neither of you can hurt the other.”
Veronyka snorted. “Val can always find a way.”
“To reach you or to hurt you?”
“Both,” she said firmly. Tristan wished he could see her expression, but she was gazing off into the distance. “The thing is… I think she’s lonely. I think she’s always been lonely—even when my mother was alive. That’s why I’m so important to her. I represent something she’s never had.”
“A friend?” Tristan offered sarcastically.
“Someone she can be herself with. Someone she can hate and love and fight, over and over, and know that I can take it. That I’ll always be there.”
It so closely mirrored Tristan’s own thoughts about them that his chest constricted tightly. “I know if things get really bad, if the situation is dire, you’ll have to try reaching out to her—but will you wait as long as possible?”
She frowned at him. “Wait for what? How much worse do we want things to get?”
Tristan scrambled for a reason. “For Fallon’s next report. They’ve had lookouts posted outside the Eyrie since the attack, and he’s sending us daily updates. We should have a clearer picture of what’s happening soon—without the risk. Doriyan sent a letter too.” Veronyka perked up at that. “He’s been tailing Sidra. He followed her all the way to Rushlea and promises to send reports on her activity, as well as Val’s. You might not even need to contact her.”
“What is Sidra doing in Rushlea?” Veronyka wondered aloud. She made an impatient sound. “Don’t you see? Whatever information we get, it’ll be an incomplete picture if we don’t know what Val plans to do next.”
He sighed. “I know. It’s just…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to rush into another confrontation with her. You’re still bleeding from the last one. You’re still recovering—we’re all still recovering.…”
He trailed off, but the tension in Veronyka slipped away, replaced by something softer. “He’ll be all right,” she murmured. He knew she was referencing his father. “And so will I.”
But she didn’t push again. Understanding, either through his words or the emotions beneath them, that Tristan couldn’t handle another close call at the moment.
Ever again, he thought darkly, but of course that was wishful thinking. The two most important people in his life had gotten sliced open in the last couple of days, and the war hadn’t even really begun yet.
“But I’ll wait for the report to come in before I take any more… risks.”
“Good,” Tristan said in relief. “Besides, being here isn’t all bad, is it?”
She smiled. “No, it isn’t.”
“And she’s not your only family,” he added gently. “Remember that.”
“I guess I could see what they’re up to tonight…,” Veronyka said thoughtfully.
“Nope,” Tristan said, moving his arms more tightly around her, while still being careful of her injury. “Tonight I want you all to myself.”
They hadn’t been alone with each other since their first night here, inside the tent, and Tristan couldn’t stop thinking about it. He kept trying to find chances to sneak away together, but between training and patrols and helping out around Haven—plus their individual familial concerns—they hadn’t found an opportunity. It had taken switching with Anders earlier to make sure they both had the night off.
Veronyka captured his mouth in a kiss. “We could sleep up here, you know,” she murmured against his lips.
Tristan nodded eagerly. “That way I don’t have to share you with anyone.”
“Not even our tent.”
He grinned. “You’ll catch us if we fall, right?” he asked Rex and Xephyra, who were still somewhere nearby.
There was a squawk and a rustle—and then Rex’s head poked out from behind a cluster of leaves. He had a large piece of wood in his beak, and before he could reply, Xephyra snapped at it, trying to take it for herself. They tussled for a moment before he lost his grip and the branch went careening over the edge.
“That was less than reassuring,” Veronyka muttered, as the piece of wood snapped and cracked all the way down. Luckily, they were far enough from Haven they didn’t have to worry about the branch landing on someone below.
Rex wilted at the loss of his prize, but Xephyra nipped at his feathers until he squawked and chased after her.
Veronyka laughed, and Tristan dipped his chin for another kiss, a smile on his face.
Day 3, Twelfth Moon, 179 AE
M,
Things are happening quickly now. I thought I had more time. I thought we had more time.
I may require your services sooner than I expected. Be ready.
—S
To be apex is to wield loyalty as a weapon—to turn love into power. A dangerous thought.
- CHAPTER 35 - AVALKYRA
ACCORDING TO MORRA, AVALKYRA could not create shadowfire—or grow her horde—without a benex, without Veronyka.
Morra was the authority, the magical scholar and priestess of Nox. The faithful servant of Ilithya Shadowheart.
And so Avalkyra had no choice but to disprove her, credentials be damned.
She had been doing it all her life.
When there was no crown of gold and jewels, she had made one of feathers.
When there was no bondmate to be had, she had created a bindmate.
And when the phoenixes cast her aside, she had bonded with a strix instead.
She tried twice more that first night before crawling onto her bedroll, fury roiling in her belly and frustration itching like a thousand tiny hooks across her skin. She told herself she just needed a good night’s sleep, that she would take what she needed from Veronyka like she always had. Surely the next day, it would happen. The next day, she would prove the woman wrong.
She’d slept nearly twenty-four hours, much to her surprise, but despite feeling truly rested for the first time in weeks, as soon as she climbed into the saddle and reached for her magic, she wound up on her back once more.
“This is your third attempt…,” Morra said, crouching down next to her on the cobblestones. The sky above was iron gray and bloated with the promise of rain, while neare
r at hand, ink-black strixes perched upon the stronghold walls, silent spectators to her failure. “Perhaps it is time to accept—”
“I accept nothing,” Avalkyra spat. Forget having shadowfire as a weapon… If she couldn’t hatch these eggs, her plans would fall to pieces. She would be outnumbered against the Phoenix Riders alone, never mind the empire. This was her long-awaited return to power. Her rise, her glorious ascension. She could not—would not—fail.
“With no secondary bond to sustain you, you risk pushing yourself to the brink,” Morra said. “Next time, you might not wake up. Now, if you reconcile…”
“Forget reconciliation,” Sidra burst out, cutting off her reply. She had watched the proceedings with tense apprehension, but now joined the shadowmage at Avalkyra’s side, bent on one knee. “I would be honored to become your benex. Choose me, my queen, and together—”
Avalkyra rolled her eyes and batted away Sidra’s outstretched hand as she got to her feet. “A bond is not a gift to be bestowed upon the most deserving—or the most desperate.” Sidra flinched as if slapped. “It is a meeting of equals. Equals in status, in magic… in blood. Are we equals in any way, Sidra of Stel?”
“No, my queen,” she whispered, jaw clenched and head bowed.
“No,” Avalkyra said. “Do not forget it. I do not need you or Veronyka or anyone. If that old phoenix could do it on her own, then so can I.”
“She was not alone,” Morra corrected softly, but Avalkyra ignored her.
She was not alone either, not truly. Their bond existed; it was simply damaged. If Ignix could reach across centuries—beyond death itself—Avalkyra could reach across a fractured bond.
She mounted up and took a deep breath, focusing on the pile of eggs. Beneath her, Onyx began to expand, her chest filling with smoke and magic, drawing the tendrils that usually trailed from her feathers inward, where it merged and expanded. Avalkyra felt the tug behind her own breastbone, and deeper, in the pit of her stomach.
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