Heart of Flames, page 31
Not like Val, who was as cold as steel and sliced twice as deep.
“No, I will stay in Vayle for now,” Alexiya said. “And when your replacements arrive, I will help—if they’ll have me.”
Veronyka knew they were in no position to say no—even if Alexiya’s existence would be a shock to them, they’d be a patrol member short themselves, with the commander still running point from the Eyrie.
“How did you come to know Ilithya?” Alexiya asked.
She hesitated. “I didn’t,” she lied. She hated to deceive Alexiya, but she also had too much at stake to start delving into Ilithya, Avalkyra, and Veronyka’s own Ashfire blood. “But we have a spy in the empire, and he worked with her, for a time. It’s through him we’ve learned some of Lord Rolan’s plans.”
“Spies,” Alexiya said with distaste. “A necessary evil, but an evil all the same.”
Tristan returned to camp then, his gaze searching the clearing until he spotted Veronyka and Alexiya in the shadows of the trees. He made directly for them, and Alexiya snorted.
“You two are more obvious than Princess Pearl and her riverboat captain,” she said, shaking her head before strolling away. Princess Pearl was the title character of a famous Arborian Comedy of the same name, and the riverboat captain was her love—as well as a prince in disguise. Veronyka smiled uncomfortably at the realization that the comparison was even more apt than Alexiya knew, and that in her life, Veronyka would be the riverboat captain and Tristan the princess.
“Well, they’re still upset,” Tristan said as soon as he arrived. He’d been spending most of his time in the village since the Silverwood battle, trying to smooth ruffled feathers and reassure everyone that the situation was well in hand. “About the attack, and about the fact that we’re being shipped off again. I tried to tell them it’s for the best, but…” He sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. His face was drawn and pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes—evidence of a sleepless night—but the shadows only seemed to make the soft brown color and long lashes pop.
They are good-looking, as well.
Veronyka banished Alexiya’s words from her mind and refocused. “Alexiya will be staying,” she said, trying to bolster his mood. “Hopefully her presence will help. She knows the Silverwood better than anyone, and it’s thanks to her we scared the soldiers off in the first place.”
Tristan nodded, but his expression was dark.
“I know this feels like a failure,” Veronyka began gently, and Tristan cast a startled look in her direction. Veronyka understood his frustration with being pulled back—they were finally starting to do some good—but she knew the assignment didn’t hit her quite as personally as it did him. She saw the commander’s order for what it was—a sound military decision.
“Was I that obvious, or are you…?” He pointed to his temple.
Veronyka smirked. “I don’t need shadow magic to read you,” she said softly, unable to conceal the affection in her voice.
Tristan dropped his chin, a rueful smile on his face. “I guess I have a tendency to wear my heart on my sleeve,” he muttered.
“Your heart—and your head,” she said with a laugh. Tristan nodded in grim resignation, and Veronyka realized that he saw this as a defect in himself, so she added, “I like it.”
“You do?” he asked, tilting his face to peek up at her.
“Very much,” she said, voice trembling slightly. “I like that I don’t have to second-guess. That there are no games with you…”
Tristan lifted his head, a knowing look in his eye. Veronyka was thinking about Val, and Tristan knew it.
“Anyway,” she said, not wanting to go there right now. “I know he’s your father, but I don’t think this is personal. A good commander wouldn’t put his greenest fighters on the front lines—he just didn’t know how wide that line was, or how much wider it might grow.”
“I know you’re right, but we’ll stay green forever if he doesn’t allow us to fully participate in this war.”
“No matter what your father does, I don’t think there’s any way to keep us out of this forever. We’ve already seen two battles, and there’ll be more to come—whether we want it or not.”
“I guess I should be grateful that we aren’t fighting battles on every front—that there is a safe space, for us and the refugees, even if it’s temporary. The thing is…” He trailed off, kicking at a stone on the ground. “I can’t shake the idea that my father is planning something… doing something… that he’s deliberately not telling me.”
“Do you think it has to do with the Grand Council?” Veronyka asked, considering Tristan’s words. Commander Cassian’s behavior seemed much the same to her as it had always been—he was a stoic man, one who didn’t share feelings or information beyond what was absolutely necessary. But Tristan knew him best, and Veronyka trusted his judgment.
Mention of the council meeting caused a scowl to cross Tristan’s face. “What could he possibly say that would win them over? And who’s to say they’ll even let him speak? He’s a war criminal. He’s supposed to be in exile. I mean, these are the people who killed my mother.”
Veronyka stared at him. Morra had told her about Olanna’s death, but she hadn’t considered that those same people still sat in positions of power in the empire—that they’d continued on, while Tristan’s mother had paid the ultimate price.
Tristan said it offhandedly, but his throat bobbed in a swallow, and he was determinedly avoiding looking in her direction. This wasn’t just about the commander and his youngest—and newest—patrol leader. This was a father and his son, and Tristan feared for Cassian’s life.
“I’m sorry, Tristan,” Veronyka said, and though she knew she shouldn’t, she trailed her fingertips down the back of his forearm until she found his hand, then laced her fingers with his.
He didn’t look at her, and though it took him a moment to respond, he squeezed tightly.
“It feels like…” He paused, clearing his throat. His voice was stronger as he continued. “It’s like he’s willingly putting himself in danger. He’s being reckless, and of all the words I’d use to describe my father, ‘reckless’ isn’t one of them.”
“Good point,” Veronyka conceded. The commander was cautious almost to a fault. “So then you have your answer,” she said, releasing Tristan’s hand so that she could stand before him.
Tristan frowned. “I do?”
Veronyka shrugged. “Either he’s behaving highly out of character,” she said, her tone skeptical, “or there is something he’s not telling you—something that makes what he’s doing logical.”
Tristan’s brows shot up—he hadn’t considered that. “I suppose that’s a comfort,” he said wryly, but Veronyka could tell her words had eased his worries somewhat. “Now I just need to find a way to get him to tell me. After we fly to Rushlea, he wants a report. I think I’ll deliver it in person.”
“What happens to me once we get to Rushlea?” she asked. It had been on her mind ever since the commander’s letter arrived. The war was indeed heating up, and Veronyka wasn’t a green Master Rider—she was a green apprentice.
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked, trying to sound politely puzzled, but of course Veronyka could see right through it.
She actually laughed a little. “Remember, heart on your sleeve?” she asked, and he gave her a resigned smile before scrubbing the back of his neck.
“He said you should return to the Eyrie, but I’m working on it.”
Veronyka’s heart sank—she couldn’t be sidelined, not now, not when she was finally making some progress. She’d managed to recruit another Phoenix Rider to their side—a war hero. That had to count for something.
“When I deliver my report, I’ll explain that we can’t spare you. I’ll make him see.”
Veronyka didn’t know if he could really pull it off—but she knew he’d try.
“I hope so,” she said. “We’ve got some unfinished business to take care of in Rushlea. I assume your father still has no intention of investigating the Phoenix Rider rumors?”
Tristan shook his head. “Not according to his letter. He’s sticking to his original position—no time, no resources.”
Veronyka nodded. “Then it’s up to us. We’ll escort the refugees to Rushlea, and while we’re there, we’ll pay a visit to another Phoenix Rider on Ilithya’s list.”
Day 27, Second Moon, 169 AE
Dear Lexi,
I’m sure you’ve heard about Queen Lania’s passing. It has been hard for Pheronia—she had a difficult relationship with her mother too.
There are rumors that Avalkyra herself is to blame for the queen’s death. She and Pheronia have hardly spoken in days. I know Pheronia is reluctant to accuse her sister, and some people close to her whisper Avalkyra might be fleeing the capital and taking her Riders with her. If she goes now, it’s not as a princess or even a queen… but as a fugitive. Councilors and politicians are choosing sides left and right.
Think carefully before you do the same.
Whatever happens, I’m still Pheronia’s bodyguard. I swore to protect her with my life, and I won’t let harm come to her—from anyone.
—Theryn
Suddenly I had a reason to
keep fighting. Strength comes from
within…. You taught me that.
- CHAPTER 27 - AVALKYRA
IT WAS SATISFYING TO hear rumors swirl about the Phoenix Rider attack on a merchant caravan in Ferro—but that wasn’t why Avalkyra was here. She and Sidra had stopped in Runnet for news of the other Phoenix Riders, not news of themselves, but Avalkyra supposed that to outsiders they were one and the same.
They heard tales that upward of fifty Riders had descended on the Iron Road, leaving no survivors—glazing over the fact that survivors had certainly been the ones to spread the stories in the first place—and burning what they didn’t steal to arm themselves for more attacks to come.
The truth was that there were only two of them. They’d spared nearly a dozen survivors and had left the entire shipment behind for Rolan’s men to deal with. He was a prudent man, if nothing else, and quite liked the idea of claiming the stolen shipment on his insurance even while the weapons sat safely in his storerooms.
They’d flown over a contingent of Lord Rolan’s soldiers on the way here, and they were due to attack along the river any day now. Other groups of soldiers had been sighted as well, moving into position along the roads to harass the locals and make travel and trade more difficult. It was a two-pronged approach, antagonizing both sides of the border. Avalkyra’s attacks were meant to strike fear into the empire’s border lords and turn Pyra into a hostile territory, while the soldiers’ attacks were meant to draw the Phoenix Riders into retaliating. Avalkyra and Sidra alone were not enough of a threat to mobilize the empire’s armies, but a full-scale Rider battle—whoever had started it—would be enough to turn these border skirmishes into an all-out war.
Perhaps it would work eventually, but Avalkyra was dubious. Veronyka had known about the soldier presence near the border weeks ago—Avalkyra had sensed it in her mind when they spoke through their bond—which meant the commander knew about them too. When would he send his Riders out? And would he send Veronyka, who was talented, but young and inexperienced?
He could only remain inactive for so long. Even if Commander Cassian understood what Rolan was doing and what leaving their seclusion and engaging with empire soldiers would mean for the greater conflict with the empire, he couldn’t in good conscience leave the people of Pyra defenseless. They were in danger because of him and his Riders, and the commander was a shrewd man. Even if guilt or a sense of duty didn’t draw him out, politics would. Avalkyra knew he hadn’t reestablished the Phoenix Riders out of the goodness of his heart or out of fond nostalgia. He was rebuilding their order so that he could lead them, so that he could reclaim wealth or status or position. If not for himself, for his son. His centuries-long claim over Ferro aside, the commander could make a legitimate bid to govern Pyra, if he chose. The last governors of Pyra—the Strongwings—had been wiped out during the Blood War.
If the Riders survived the conflict that was to come—or avoided it entirely, as the commander clearly hoped to do—he would be the obvious choice.
If they survived. And if the people of Pyra would accept him. Therein lay the problem. To avoid war was to avoid conflict while innocent people suffered…. If he let it go too long, those same people would revolt against him should he try to seize power.
He had future ambitions to protect, but also a reputation to uphold.
And no doubt, if the people of Pyra were in danger, Veronyka wouldn’t let him rest until he acted.
Avalkyra was counting on it.
When they finally got news from the rest of Pyra, it wasn’t from an attack on the fishing villages.
As the hours had worn on in the smoky Runnet cookhouse, Sidra found a man carrying word from the east, and with a bit of ale and forceful prompting, he told them there had been a battle south of Vayle, in the Silverwood, and that the fight had been between empire soldiers and Phoenix Riders. Not the whole flock or even a full patrol, but three Riders—two of whom were female. As Avalkyra and Sidra had not partaken in this attack, Avalkyra knew one of them must be Veronyka. The other’s identity was uncertain, though considering the location, Avalkyra had a good guess. A spasm of hot resentment tightened her stomach, but she pushed it aside. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that Veronyka had left the Eyrie.
Even as Avalkyra relished the news, she found herself cursing her ill timing. If she’d known about the attack, she could have been nearby, swooping in to help Veronyka and convince her of her good intentions. But, of course, when she’d allied with Lord Rolan, he’d been rightfully wary of her. As far as he knew, she was a turncoat Phoenix Rider. A nobody. Her carefully cultivated anonymity had been her armor and her shield, and she wasn’t ready to expose herself just yet. Avalkyra had little appetite for the political gaming; it was all a farce, a parody of the war she’d fought with her sister years before. As a result, the man didn’t reveal his grand plans or strategy to her.
Regardless, Avalkyra had expected any strikes he made to come from Ferro in the west—but apparently he had allies in Arboria, too. With the river as a barrier, his soldiers couldn’t have gotten into the Silverwood without crossing at Runnet or Vayle, and both locations were far too populated to make their attacks secret.
With a shadow magic nudge from Avalkyra, Sidra pressed the man who’d been relaying the information. He was red-faced and well into his cups, making his mind the kind of place Avalkyra would rather not venture into.
“What happened to the Riders?” Sidra asked him, gripping the front of his tunic to pull him closer. Avalkyra admired her bravery—she could smell his breath from across the table. “Did they chase the soldiers back into the empire? Did they return to the Eyrie?”
The man’s eyes bugged slightly, and he seemed to be enjoying himself less than he had been a few minutes ago, when two young women so desperately craved his company that they bought him a pitcher of ale and invited him to their dark corner of the cookhouse.
“Oh, well, the commandant—”
“The commander,” Sidra corrected, but Avalkyra shoved her shoulder and waved him on.
“Yes—him, the—their leader,” the man amended, darting a nervous glance down at Sidra’s fist, which was still clutching his tunic, before continuing. “He sent in reinforcements. Apparently it was only the youngsters in Vayle—the new Rider recruits—and so they were sent off north with the survivors. Not everyone made it, mind, and people have gone missing—Miseriya keep them,” he murmured gravely, before adding, “The old guard swooped in to set up some kind of watch or patrol or what have you.”
Avalkyra leapt to her feet, barely hearing his last words. “Come, Sidra,” she announced, and Sidra obeyed at once, releasing the man and following Avalkyra out into the twilit streets. Their phoenixes were hidden outside the town limits—something Avalkyra risked only because Sidra’s mount was there to keep her own phoenix from fleeing or giving their presence away.
“To Arboria so soon?” Sidra asked as they climbed a sloping hill into a copse of trees.
They were due to attack a country estate in some Arborian backwater, dispersing their assaults to give the impression of larger numbers and a stronger force. It would be as unsatisfying as the Iron Road attack, but Avalkyra had agreed to it. Knowing what she did now about Rolan’s apparent allies in Arboria, Avalkyra wondered if they were meant to encourage loyalty from new allies or ensure the loyalty of existing ones—but it didn’t matter.
She had no intention of going to Arboria herself.
“Change of plans,” Avalkyra said. They’d arrived at the clearing where they’d hidden their phoenixes, and after a soft whistle from Sidra—and a firm jerk on the bind from Avalkyra—both creatures fluttered forward. “Think you can handle that Arborian estate on your own? Surely that will even the odds and make it more of a challenge for you?”
Sidra’s lip curled up in the corner. “Yes, my queen,” she said with obvious pleasure. “Where will you go?” Sidra asked, checking the saddles on both phoenixes and attaching their newly replenished supplies from Runnet.
“Commander Cassian is having his Riders escort the refugees north,” Avalkyra said, beginning to pace. “He’ll have to set up some temporary housing far enough from the border to be out of danger. What’s the closest, safest place to take them?”
Sidra considered as she tightened a strap. “Montascent is too far and Petratec is too small—they’d have nowhere to put them.” Avalkyra nodded. “Rushlea’s the only option.”
“Yes, and Veronyka will be there with them. I’ll filter in with the other refugees—more will be heading there every day—and orchestrate a way to get her alone. Then I’ll tell her about the captives.”
Veronyka would have already heard the rumors by now—even beyond those who went missing from the Silverwood attack. It was the thing she’d suggested to Lord Rolan during their meeting, an idea that had not yet occurred to him.
