“Then we offer her to the empire as a bargaining chip,” Tristan said, and Veronyka nodded eagerly. “It might be the one move that could guarantee peace on both fronts.”
“Surely General Rast could be convinced to call a temporary cease-fire if he was able to hand over the greatest war criminal in the empire’s history?” Veronyka asked.
The commander leaned back against his pillows, blinking as though stunned—but Tristan recognized it as his thinking face. He was rifling through all the angles, all the possibilities.
“Meanwhile, we could reclaim the Eyrie and hunt down any remaining strixes,” Tristan said carefully, taking up the thread. “They’d be leaderless. We’ll be able to keep Pyra safe and have time to prepare for the next Grand Council meeting. They’ll see that without Avalkyra and Rolan, there are no attacks. That we want peace.”
The commander looked at Veronyka, his gaze measuring. “How?”
That almost sounded like submission. There was a level of respect between them that had grown in recent weeks, a give-and-take that Tristan was rather envious of. Veronyka deferred to him as commander of the Phoenix Riders, but that didn’t mean she would step aside or follow orders like an obedient soldier anymore. Furthermore, he included her and listened to her opinions—and she did her best to convince him of them, not merely barking her plans out as a command, daring him to contradict her.
It was smooth and subtle, and if Tristan didn’t know any better, he’d have thought they’d been working together for years.
“I would go with a small force—just our patrol,” she said, indicating Tristan. She glanced apologetically at Alexiya and Doriyan. “She knows you both and would sense you more easily than the others, who are strangers to her.”
“Sense us?” Alexiya repeated, brow furrowed. Veronyka gave her a significant look before turning her attention to the others.
“The reason we can’t sneak up on her or fly with a large force is because Avalkyra is a shadowmage.” She paused. “We both are.”
Everyone in the room stared at her—Theryn and Hestia with confusion, Alexiya and Doriyan with grim understanding, and the commander with something like resignation. As if he couldn’t expect things to get any worse or any weirder.
“That’s how she was able to bond to a strix in the first place,” Veronyka explained. “And it’s how she’s communicated with and controlled her patrol members in the past.”
“She can control people?” the commander said, clearly uneasy. Despite his apparent shock, Tristan had to hand it to him—his father was taking it better than he had when he’d found out.
Veronyka nodded. “Some people. I doubt she ever managed it with you,” she said with the ghost of a smile. “It involves a level of familiarity and openness to be effective.”
“Her patrol, you said,” he continued, glancing at Doriyan. His head was bowed, expression ashamed. “That makes a great deal of sense.”
“She can also use the magic to communicate with people. As can I.” She halted here, her eyes boring into the commander, as if willing him to understand something.
“To communicate…,” he repeated, his gaze growing distant. Thoughtful. “Outside the Grand Council chamber—Rolan’s blade. I did not see it, but somehow… I knew it was there, knew it was coming.”
“Because I saw it,” Veronyka said.
Tristan whirled around to gape at her. She’d saved his father’s life? Heedless of the others in the room, he crossed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her.
“Thank you,” he said, pressing his lips against her forehead. She seemed embarrassed—and maybe a little pleased—at his gratitude.
“That is remarkable,” Hestia murmured as Tristan drew back.
“Indeed,” the commander said, his eyes surprisingly soft as he looked at the pair of them. “You have my thanks as well.”
Veronyka gave him a small smile, then cleared her throat. “As I was saying… she knows Alexiya and Doriyan and would be more likely to sense their presence, which would give us away.”
Tristan’s heart sank. He knew what would come next. “But Tristan,” his father said, not missing a beat, “she knows him as well.”
“Yes, she knows Tristan,” Veronyka said carefully, looking between father and son. “Which is why he’ll act as lookout in case she decides to call her flock after all.”
Tristan opened his mouth to argue, then stared down at his feet. Lookout?
Trust me, Veronyka said softly, speaking into Tristan’s mind.
He relaxed his shoulders. I do.
“But… how do you intend to capture her?” asked Alexiya. “Even if you manage to sneak your patrol into the village, they’ll need to focus on containing her reinforcements. It’ll just be you against Avalkyra Ashfire mounted on a strix.”
“Plus Sidra,” added Doriyan. “I don’t know what her role will be, but she’s dangerous.”
Veronyka frowned, her gaze growing distant as she considered. She didn’t take offense at the implication that she couldn’t defeat Val one-on-one, as Tristan probably would have done. She had learned from previous mistakes and would never take Val lightly.
What they needed was something Val wouldn’t expect, a secret weapon, a… He had it.
Spotting his father’s saddlebags and other possessions stacked against the wall, Tristan bent and rummaged until he found what he sought: an elegant walking stick.
He lifted it, triumphant. “She’ll use this.”
As everyone watched, Tristan unscrewed the finely carved phoenix-head handle, plucking out one of the darts contained within.
Veronyka’s face lit with excitement as she stepped forward and took the projectile from Tristan’s hand. “Hestia,” she said, “can you give us a potent sleeping draft? Something that works instantaneously?”
She seemed taken aback by the question but nodded. “I have the necessary ingredients in my travel kit.”
Everyone turned to the commander, hopeful.
Except for Theryn. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this,” he said stonily.
“You are the heir to the throne, Veronyka,” the commander said. “Your plan is worth considering, but I’m not sure we can risk you.”
“You won’t be able to pull it off without me,” she said, arms crossed and chin jutting out. “She asked to see me. She’ll probably shoot anyone else on sight.”
“It’s still too great a risk,” Theryn said desperately.
“And what do you think, Tristan?”
Tristan jerked his head up, surprised to be asked his opinion. Had the commander sensed his frustration at playing such a small part in the plan? Was he trying to exploit it?
“I think it’s better than sitting here, waiting. I think it’s better than monitoring her movements but not acting on them. I’d follow Veronyka anywhere, and I think you know that.”
The commander raised his chin. “Will you give us the room?” he asked, turning away from Tristan to address the others.
Doriyan made for the door at once, followed by Hestia, who murmured something about taking a look at his neck. Alexiya left next, keeping a wary eye on her brother—and her body between him and Doriyan. Theryn, however, glared at Cassian the whole way out. Veronyka took a step to follow them, but hesitated.
It’s okay, Tristan reassured her, though he didn’t feel terribly reassured himself. He suspected a fight was coming, and he honestly didn’t feel up to yelling at his convalescent father again.
But he would if it meant supporting Veronyka. He would if it meant finishing this. Finishing her. He was sick and tired of the way Val held sway over so many lives, but he hated the way she loomed over Veronyka most of all.
“Son…,” the commander began as soon as Veronyka had left.
Tristan steeled his resolve and looked up, ready to go on the offensive. He was shocked into silence by the tears sparkling in his father’s eyes.
“How am I to do it?”
“D
o what?” Tristan managed, his throat suddenly tight.
“How am I to sit here and watch you go?”
Tristan dropped his head, searching for words. “It’s a good plan,” he whispered.
“She had a good plan too. Your mother. Sometimes it simply does not matter.”
“We might fail,” Tristan conceded. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try.”
His father huffed out a sound that was almost a laugh but lacked humor. “It wasn’t so long ago that I was champing at the bit to fight, to take action. Then, somewhere along the way, I decided I had too much to lose. Then I lost, and I thought I would feel less afraid after that… but now I cling more desperately to what’s left.”
Tristan considered that, thinking about the ways his father had shown his fear: slowing him down and pushing him aside, the countless moments of grudging concession and convoluted approval. The suggestion that Tristan should be steward, that he was not yet ready to lead. All out of fear.
He closed his eyes. “I need you to stop,” he said, opening them again. His father’s face was pinched, his hands clenched into fists in the bedding. “You’re not keeping me safe. You’re holding me back.”
“I never meant to do it, you know.”
“To hold me back?”
“To try to shape you in my image when you were so clearly born in your mother’s. She died saving lives, and just because she didn’t save them all doesn’t mean what she did was foolish or wrong. You are a living, breathing part of her—and I am proud.”
“Oh, I…” Tristan swallowed thickly. “Thank you.”
They both avoided looking at each other, and when his father eventually spoke again, his voice was back to its usual, crisp tenor. “This plan—are you ready to risk your life on it? Her life?”
Tristan looked up, nodded.
The commander sighed. “So be it.”
I am loath to burden her so. But my back is bent; my soul is weary.… There is no other way.
- CHAPTER 42 - VERONYKA
VERONYKA DID HER BEST not to eavesdrop on the closed-door conversation between Tristan and his father. Despite the close quarters of her grandmother’s house, the walls were thick and covered in tapestries and other textiles that dampened sound, but while their words were muffled, she still had her bond to Tristan.
She’d expected a steady stream of anger and frustration—arguing, it seemed, was their preferred mode of communication—but she sensed feelings closer to confusion and grief. She could have pushed to hear more, but it was one thing to overhear a loud voice through a closed door and quite another to deliberately spy on Tristan’s mind.
When the door opened, Veronyka whirled around in surprise. They hadn’t spoken long at all, and Tristan—who strode purposefully from the room, leaving his father behind—looked slightly out of sorts. He stood straight-backed and square-shouldered, as usual, but his eyes were red, and his mouth turned down at the corners.
He seemed lost for a moment, and then his gaze landed on her. The shaky tenor of their link as he struggled against his feelings strengthened and solidified. Determination flared between them.
He nodded. “Time to go.”
A fire burst to life inside her, equal parts fear and anticipation. Val might have a few tricks up her sleeve, but Veronyka had some tricks of her own.
While Hestia had remained upstairs with Agneta and Cassian, Alexiya and Theryn—along with Doriyan, who stood off to the side—were waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs, accompanied by Tristan’s patrol, Sev, and Kade.
They had all heard about the late-night news and the early-morning meeting by now and were eager for an update.
“Who’s on patrol?” Tristan asked as he and Veronyka came to stand before their fellow Riders.
“It was supposed to be Alexiya,” Anders said, “but Jonny covered for her.”
“I didn’t think it wise to leave just yet,” she said, her narrowed gaze flicking between Theryn and Doriyan.
“Oh, relax,” Theryn said, voice tired. “I’m not a rabid dog that needs muzzling.”
Alexiya raised her brows. “All evidence to the contrary.” She actually smiled a little. “I’ve never seen you like that before.… Need I remind you we had to drag you off of him?”
“No, you do not,” Theryn muttered, darting an uncomfortable look at Veronyka.
It had been quite the shock to see him lunge at Doriyan, ready to choke the life from him then and there. He might have been silent and stoic, but there was clearly more happening beneath the surface. Even though she’d known he’d been a soldier, she had truly seen it in that moment. He’d been out for blood, and despite Alexiya’s suggestion that it was out of character for him, it was clear to Veronyka that it wasn’t the first time he’d attacked with the intent to truly harm. Even kill.
His rage had washed over her, through her, and it had been harrowing.
She’d seen flashes of his grief, old and new—losing Pheronia and her in a single, black night. Then reliving it over and over again in the years since. Doriyan had been a trigger, a reminder of that pain, and it had overwhelmed and overtaken him in a sudden, powerful rush.
Veronyka didn’t know how she could leave him now, with that poison swirling inside him. But she also knew she couldn’t stay.
Tristan got straight to the point. “The commander has approved a special mission,” he announced to his patrol. “Prepare to depart as soon as possible.”
* * *
They arrived at camp and packed up their supplies, Veronyka’s mind racing. If things went well, they’d deal with Val and the empire in a single move. After that, they’d be hunting down strixes and planning for another meeting with the Grand Council.
Her heart fluttered at the possibility of avoiding open warfare even as her stomach sank at the realization that however things shook out—good or bad—she wouldn’t have cause to return to Arboria or Haven anytime soon.
After insisting that Doriyan sleep and recover before joining them in Pyra, Tristan asked Alexiya to carry word to Prosperity.
“Tell Beryk about the empire’s impending march and see if he can contact their leaders. We might be able to forestall them if we request an audience to discuss terms. They’ll assume we mean to surrender—let them. I don’t want to promise Avalkyra until I’m certain we can deliver her.”
Alexiya was just about to mount up when Agneta approached her. Alexiya stiffened—clearly expecting a fight or rebuke—but Agneta only pulled her into a gruff hug. Alexiya relaxed into it for a breath before disentangling herself and climbing into the saddle. She nodded at Veronyka across the campsite, and then she was off.
Finished packing, Veronyka wandered over to Agneta, who stood with Theryn. He had a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“I have to go too,” Veronyka said, her throat dry.
Agneta turned pleading eyes on Veronyka. “Do you?” she whispered, taking hold of Veronyka’s hands. “You are so very young, the same as your parents were when this war started. And look what happened.”
Veronyka felt as if she’d been fighting this war—against Val, against the past and the ramifications of it—her entire life. She was better prepared now than she had ever been, and the only way to stop this vicious cycle was to put an end to it once and for all.
To Veronyka’s surprise, Theryn didn’t use the opportunity to take up his mother’s cause and argue against her leaving. Instead, he pried Agneta’s hands from Veronyka’s. “She has made her choice,” he said.
Veronyka found herself swallowing around a lump in her throat. “This isn’t about choice—about choosing a war or a throne or an empire. It’s about what’s right and what’s wrong.” Distantly Veronyka sensed other people watching them, but she didn’t care. “They want to take our freedom from us. Not just Phoenix Riders, but all animages. I will do everything in my power to make sure that doesn’t happen. I will make whatever sacrifice. I pray it doesn’t come to bloodshed, but if it does, I will st
and and fight.”
“Then I’ve already lost you the same way I lost her.”
Silence pressed in on Veronyka, masking everything but the beat of her heart and the sound of her breaths rattling in and out of her chest. “You haven’t lost me.”
“Maybe not yet—but I will.” The words were jagged, scraping at Veronyka’s heart. “Unless you stay here with us,” he finished softly. “With me.”
“Don’t,” Veronyka said harshly. Theryn’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw working, while Agneta looked between them, expression frantic.
Veronyka turned away. Perhaps it was foolish to hope that he would really see her so soon after they’d met. That he’d understand her. That he’d support her and help her instead of dragging her down with overprotectiveness and guilt.
“Theryn,” Agneta fluttered, taking Veronyka’s hands again. “Stop her. You can’t just—”
“Let her go, Mother.”
Veronyka whirled back around. “Is that what you did when Pheronia continued to fight?”
“What?” he asked, blinking in confusion.
Veronyka lifted her chin. “Let her go?”
He seemed completely taken aback by that. “I never… I always…”
“Why was she alone that night?” Veronyka demanded. She didn’t know where the words—or the anger—came from, but suddenly they were bubbling up and spilling out. “Where were you while my mother bled out in the arms of the woman who killed her?”
Theryn’s face went slack, his eyes wide and unseeing. “I begged her to leave with me. To go into hiding. After months, she finally agreed. I wanted to leave before the fighting started, but I think she delayed on purpose. She kept sending me off—to ready the horses, to carry the trunks. I think…” He licked his lips. “I think she wanted to see her sister one last time.”
“Maybe she wouldn’t have sent you off,” Veronyka said, her throat tight, “if you’d agreed to fight with her instead of against her.”
To that he had no response. He wilted, no longer her long-lost father with kind eyes and strong shoulders, but an old, sad man. Defeated. Broken.
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