Veronyka didn’t stop to celebrate. Gasping, she took up her knife and attacked another rope farther down the line.
Across the courtyard, another hook rattled to the ground as a second climber fell, this time crying out as he dropped from the wall. The surge of happiness that flared inside Tristan was quickly stifled. For every rope that was cut, two more flew up in its place.
A handful of Tristan’s arrows found their mark, but it wasn’t enough. The stream of climbers seemed endless, and the time it took to cut them was longer than the time it took for new soldiers to make the climb. Soon they would crest the walls, and all his best fighters were in the village.
The grappling hooks flew up in waves, usually sets of two or three, with a few minutes’ lull in between—climbers trying to find better positions, Tristan guessed, or dodging their fellows as they hurtled back to the ground. At this rate, the stronghold would be lost before the village gate fell—a shocking realization, with the sound of groaning hinges and splintering wood echoing from below, along with the steady thump, thump, thump of the battering ram, pulsing in time with the rapid beat of Tristan’s heart.
He had to change their strategy, but how?
During the pauses between the waves of grappling hooks, the defenders traded positions, giving those hacking at the ropes a chance to attack, while those who had been firing arrows or dropping stones took up a blade.
Tristan forced Veronyka to take a break and drink some water, while he held her serrated knife, weighing his options. He could call Captain Flynn from his position on the village wall, but he hadn’t sent a reply to Tristan’s first message about the battering ram, which meant he was either too busy to report—and to help—or that something much worse had become of him.
“You know what you have to do, don’t you?” Veronyka said, still gasping as she tried to catch her breath.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a Rider, Tristan. Ride.”
He looked down at her, at those familiar eyes, and shook his head. “I . . . I can’t. We have no battle experience. That’s what they want us to do. They want us to die out there.”
He grabbed the waterskin from her hands and raised it to his lips, but he didn’t drink.
“Then let me go,” she said. When his head snapped in her direction, she twisted her lips, then said, “I’m bonded. That new female, the one I tamed in the courtyard? She was—is—my bondmate.”
Tristan realized that distantly he’d known this—had figured it out during the fight with her sister in front of the enclosure—but he’d been too distracted to consciously make the connection.
Regardless, it was out of the question. She had less training than him. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“I know it is, but you can afford to lose me, even if you can’t afford to lose the others.”
He tossed the waterskin aside. “If you think I’d willingly sacrifice you just because you’re a girl”—he said the last word in a low, vehement whisper—“or because you’re not a trained Rider or whatever it is that you think, you’re more messed up than your sister.”
Her lips parted in surprise, but she didn’t respond.
Tristan’s chest heaved. He wanted to keep yelling. He wanted to punch things. He wanted to burn the damn ropes that carried their enemies toward them.
The thought made something clunk into place in his mind. Of course he hadn’t thought of it yet—Tristan did his best to never think of it.
Fire.
He snatched a nearby lantern, dumping the cold oil onto the closest hook’s rope, and called for a lit torch from a brazier below. When he held the flame over the oil-soaked rope, hands shaking slightly, it took a long time to catch, burning low and blue before winking out. That’s what the waxy resin was—it was the same fireproofing sap they used on their own gear.
“Tristan,” Veronyka said, gripping the front of his tunic to regain his attention. “If this place falls, we’re all dead—servants and villagers, Riders and phoenixes. You’ve let the people fight to defend their home; now let the phoenixes. Can’t you feel it?” she finished quietly, looking toward the Eyrie.
When Tristan focused there, and not on the battle raging around him, he did feel it. Heat, waves of it rippling from the stony chasm beyond the archway, followed by bursts of anger and aggression. Rex was there with the others, his volatile emotions stoking the flame of Tristan’s own wild feelings. Rex wanted to fight, and Tristan had forbidden it. He’d made all the Riders tether their mounts to keep them inside the Eyrie, just like the females in their enclosure.
“You’re right,” he said, and Veronyka released his tunic, as if surprised to have won him over so easily. “This is their home, these are their bondmates, and they should be allowed to fight. Besides,” he added, nodding to the oil-soaked rope and swallowing the wave of fear that surged up inside him, “nothing burns hotter than phoenix fire.”
“Will you ride?” Veronyka asked as they crossed the courtyard.
“No,” Tristan said, despite wishing otherwise. He’d rather be in the air than down here, amid the burning flames. “We can’t afford to lose the apprentices on the walls—they’re some of our best fighters. Besides, the phoenixes are safer without their Riders. We weigh them down, and the metal fastenings on their saddles catch the light. Without us, they can fly almost invisibly, and be seen only when they want to be—when they ignite.”
Passing Anders on his way across the cobblestones, Tristan explained what he intended to do and told him to spread the word to the other apprentices. They’d have to guide their bondmates through the battle from the ground.
“And what of the females?” Veronyka asked, as Anders rushed off and Tristan strode purposefully toward the Eyrie.
“If your bondmate wants to fight, she can fight,” he said, continuing his rapid pace across the courtyard. “No matter what, she leaves that cell.”
He glanced down at her, and her expression of gratitude was so raw, her eyes so bright, that he almost had to look away. He wanted to hug her, to ruffle her hair or give her a punch on the arm. He settled for something in between, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. Their brief contact stirred something deep in the pit of Tristan’s stomach, and he realized that Veronyka was Nyk, and Nyk was Veronyka. They were one and the same, and the thought eased something tight in his chest.
They made for the apprentice mounts first. The phoenixes were roosting together on the topmost levels of the Eyrie, huddled in groups or soaring in low, mournful circles in the open air.
Sensing him, Rex cut his flight short and banked hard, landing on the lip of the stone ledge with a rattle of his chain. Veronyka drew back as a wave of heat and glowing sparks settled over them, but Tristan stood his ground—he had to, they didn’t have time to waste.
Rex tossed his head and expelled breaths of hot air, behaving like an angry stallion. Tristan gripped his beak and pulled it down, bringing their eyes on a level.
I need you, he said through the bond, patting him reassuringly with one hand while using the other to fumble with the cuff. I hate to ask, but I need you to fight. To lead.
Rex threatened to ignite right then and there. Tristan wanted to flinch away from it, but he stood his ground—he couldn’t quell Rex’s emotions. He needed to fan the flames. He needed his phoenix to fight hard enough to survive.
“Nyk—the others,” Tristan said, unhitching the cuff and dropping it to the ground with a clang. “I mean, Veronyka.”
“Nyk’s fine,” she said distractedly, pushing past him toward the rest of the phoenixes. Once they saw Rex released, they were eager to greet her, shuffling into a line along the narrow ledge, shaking their wings as they jostled for position.
Tristan spotted Elliot’s mount out of the corner of his eye and hesitated. “You’d better leave Jaxon,” he said, indicating the phoenix perched near the back of the group, his head down and his movements subdued. “That’s Elliot’s mount. I . . . I don’t know what he might
do, with his bondmate locked up. He might try to retaliate.”
With a regretful twist of the lips, Veronyka nodded and returned to the others, unhooking the cuffs while Tristan explained the battle to Rex. He emphasized how important it was for him and the rest to stay away from the enemy archers. He showed Rex a mental picture of the ropes and the climbers and stressed that their only mission was to set those ropes alight and then fly to safety. The humans would take care of the other humans. Once the stronghold was secure, Tristan would reevaluate what help they needed at the village gate.
By the time he was finished coaching Rex, Veronyka was unfastening the cuff on the last phoenix, while the rest remained perched on nearby ledges. The phoenixes were instructed by their bondmates to follow Rex’s lead, and so far they didn’t attempt to leave the Eyrie—though Tristan knew they wanted to.
The last leash rattled to the ground, and Veronyka came to stand next to him. He released his hold on Rex.
Tristan had to be brave, for Rex and for the others. He had to control his fear.
Looking inward, Tristan focused on the safe house. He hadn’t tended it much in the past few days, and the neglect showed itself in the way his fear threatened to overtake his mind, even at the thought of all these phoenixes joining them in fiery battle.
Veronyka sidled next to him and put a warm hand on his arm. He looked at her, and he felt something spread through him—a calmness, a strength that didn’t feel entirely his own. Whatever it was, Tristan used it to rebuild the walls and lock his fear safely away.
I control you, he said to his fear, you do not control me.
The last stone in place, Tristan’s heart rate slowed, and Rex crooned next to him in support.
“Thank you,” he whispered to Veronyka, his fear ebbing away, leaving him strong and stable once more.
She squeezed his arm, then released it. Rex flapped his wings in a great gust, stirring up dirt and leaves as he flew across the chasm to perch on the phoenix-shaped platform. The rest of the phoenixes followed him, each emitting a cloud of heat and a hazy glow between their feathers. As soon as they landed, their inner fires winked out, and they stood stony and gray as statues against the black of the night.
Tristan turned to Veronyka. “They’ll await my signal. Let’s go.”
At the bottommost levels of the Eyrie, the females stirred. While Rex’s feelings came to Tristan so powerfully and clearly that they could sometimes be mistaken as his own, the emotions of other phoenixes were like smoke, faint whispers of thoughts and intentions not yet formed or fully realized.
Veronyka took hold of the lock, the metal rattling loudly against the bars. One of the phoenixes, he assumed her bondmate, fluttered forward to greet her. Footsteps sounded to their left, and Ersken moved out of the shadows.
Veronyka froze, but Tristan stepped forward. He was in charge now, and no matter his father’s orders to the contrary, he had to do what was best for the Eyrie. “Stand down, Ersken. We’re releasing one of the females.”
“Just one?” Veronyka asked, dropping the lock.
Tristan took in a steady breath, the noise of the attack above echoing in the distance.
“Yes, Nyk, just one. The others aren’t bonded, and—” He froze, realizing his mistake as Veronyka stiffened. Both turned to Ersken.
“Should I act surprised, then?” he asked, leaning against the bars. “Never seen a phoenix act as this one has, unless they were bonded.”
Veronyka’s eyes darted in Tristan’s direction, but this was her secret to tell.
“I’m not Nyk,” she said, meeting Ersken’s gaze. “I’m Veronyka. And my bondmate is Xephyra.”
Ersken nodded gravely, then fixed her with a gentle smile. “That’s a right queenly name, to be sure.”
“Look,” Tristan said, cutting into their exchange. “We’re only releasing one, because only one is bonded. We have no idea what the others might do.”
“It’s in their nature to fight alongside their fellows . . . ,” Ersken mused, as if it were of no real urgency or importance. “You saw what they were like when we caught these females. The others didn’t like it one bit—and they won’t like it tonight, when arrows come flyin’ at their brothers and sisters.”
“But they won’t understand what’s happening, not like the bonded ones will. They could be killed.”
“Or they could fly away,” Ersken said, eyebrows raised.
“Yes, or they could fly away,” Tristan agreed, irritated at the assumption that that was all he cared about, though of course it was a large part of it. The commander would be livid if he returned to find no female phoenixes. That was, if he returned at all, and if the Eyrie was still standing. He sighed heavily. “They have no bondmate to keep them loyal, and we’ve shackled them. Leaving should be their very first instinct.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ersken said, staring at the phoenixes through the bars. He might not be bonded with them, but Ersken knew the females better than anyone else in the stronghold. “Their first instinct is to protect their bondmate, and after that, it’s to protect each other. Why do you think the empire never tried to lure Phoenix Riders to their side during the war? When it comes to a real battle—not squabbles over territory or mating displays—they won’t fight against one another.”
“Fine,” Tristan said, stepping around Veronyka to take hold of the lock. “They can fight for us, for the other phoenixes, or for no one at all. I suppose that’s their right.” He turned to Veronyka. “They might be shot down before they get past the walls of the stronghold—your bondmate included. I hope you’re prepared to face that possibility.”
“I’ll do it,” Ersken said, shoving Tristan aside. “Get back up there; you’ll see once they’re loose. Doubt they’ll stay put and play nice like your trained males up there, so be ready with your command.”
Veronyka wavered, and Tristan could tell she was afraid, that she wanted to stay behind and release her phoenix herself.
“You can stay, but I have to go,” he said. She hesitated another moment, then followed him up the stairs. They ran, Tristan’s lungs burning with exertion. The tunnel was cool and damp, cut off from the noise of the battle, the only sound the steady pant of their breathing and the slap of their footsteps against the stone.
They were just emerging at the top level when a series of musical cries echoed from the bottom of the Eyrie. Peering over the edge, Tristan saw Veronyka’s phoenix soar out first, quickly followed by the other two. As Ersken predicted, they didn’t await an order or circle low in hesitation. They rose like fireballs, ripping through the sky and bursting into a glorious shower of sparks. Like their feathers, they burned with a hint of violet and indigo, staining the sky with all the colors of a mountain sunset.
Rex, he thought, staring at the perch where the males gathered, ruffling their feathers and shifting their feet in response to the females soaring past them. Now.
Rex burst into a blazing red-gold inferno, the flame rippling off his feathers and cracking like a whip. The rest of the phoenixes lit up as well, one after the other, like a series of torches catching fire. With a bone-chilling cry, the males answered the females, launching into the air.
The females weaved in between the males, mixing their colors and creating a spectacle a thousand times more magnificent than the solstice dance he’d shown Veronyka. This was primal battle magic.
This was the stuff of legends.
Their whirling spiral of light split, and they turned their flight toward the battle for the stronghold, sparks trailing in their wake.
War is costly. Even in victory, there is a price.
- CHAPTER 39 -
VERONYKA
AS SOON AS THEY passed through the archway and the chaos atop the battlements came into view, Veronyka’s insides went cold. There were soldiers inside the stronghold, wielding axes, crossbows, and short swords, their edges tipped in blood. Bodies littered the walkway across the wall and the ground beneath it, while a distant glow to the
east told her that the village gate was burning.
The possibility that they might lose became real to Veronyka for the first time. And she had convinced Tristan to involve Xephyra and the rest of the phoenixes. Veronyka might lose her bondmate all over again. Her legs became wobbly stems beneath her, and she drew air in quick, shallow breaths. The stronghold was flooded with fear, her own most powerful of all, and Veronyka thought she might drown in it.
High above, a phoenix screeched, and Veronyka looked up to see Xephyra burn a brilliant violet streak across the sky. Rex and the other phoenixes joined in, and as the stronghold’s defenders clapped and cheered, the heavy press of emotion lightened. Veronyka knew then that she’d made the right decision. Not only had they brought hope to their flagging defenders, but the phoenixes were true warriors—if anyone was qualified to fight the soldiers tonight, it was them.
Tristan dove into the fighting as soon as they returned, helping two of his fellow apprentices reclaim a section of the wall as Rex and the others soared by. The defenders waved their weapons in the air, heartened by their reinforcements, while the soldiers stared at the firebirds with openmouthed fear. Maybe they thought all the phoenixes had been drawn out by the diversions, or maybe they’d never faced them in battle before.
Rex and the other males flew together in circles high above the battle, slowly building their heat, while Xephyra and the females were far more erratic. Veronyka was relieved to see that neither of the unbonded phoenixes had used the opportunity to flee—at least not yet.
Rex was the first to break the pattern, igniting as he dove toward the attacking forces. He whipped past the walls, trailing fire in his wake and causing soldiers to duck and cry out, only to topple from the wall or be cut through by a defender. It took several passes for the phoenix fire to actually burn the ropes, thanks to the pyraflora resin, but with each sweep of flaming wing or tail feather, the ropes frayed and weakened. The rest of the males followed after him, orbiting the stronghold with swathes of flame until it was lit to almost daylight brightness.
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