“I’ll see to it personally,” the Captain said. “We’ll barricade the doors, and I’ll choose a contingent of my best fighters to stay behind and defend it. The rest I’ll send up to the stronghold.”
Tristan nodded. “Use a runner to keep me informed, and ask Jana to ready the pigeons. We’ve got messages to send. In the meantime,” he continued, raising his voice over the noise of his orders being carried out, “I want every willing, able-bodied servant and villager lined up in this courtyard in fifteen minutes. We’ll hold the fort until the commander and the Riders return.”
The group around them began to disperse; Captain Flynn sent guards running this way and that, while servants hurried to prepare provisions. Morra left to question Elliot, hoping to glean more details about the coming attack.
Amid the tumult, Tristan crouched down in front of Sev. “Thank you,” he said, gesturing for the healer to relocate him to a safe place. “We are forever in your debt. These . . . ,” he said, gesturing to the eggs, “keep them with you, for now.”
As Veronyka moved to get out of the way, Sev’s gaze latched on to her. His eyes flickered with some distant recognition, but they were hazy with pain. Before Veronyka could react, he was lifted from the ground and carried out of sight.
She rubbed her aching temples. If Sev recognized her, if he asked after that girl he’d once met . . . It was a complication she did not need right now.
When she looked up, Tristan was already walking away, making straight for the temple. She frowned. “Where are you going?” she called.
“To light the beacon.”
As the courtyard buzzed around her, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Veronyka’s veins. So much was happening, so much was at stake. Soldiers and traitors and phoenix eggs. But with an army on their doorstep, one thing was for certain: Tristan had called for volunteers to protect the stronghold, and Veronyka intended to fight.
The courtyard was chaos as the battle preparations began—villagers being ushered into the empty barracks, clutching their children and whatever worldly possessions they could carry to their chests, while guards rolled barrels of grain across the cobblestones and servants hoisted sloshing buckets of water to the kitchens.
A small girl bumped into Veronyka—a girl with wild hair, a bird on her shoulder, and a homemade spear clutched in both hands.
“Sparrow?” Veronyka said incredulously, but already the girl was lost in the crowd. When had she come to the Eyrie? Had she arrived with Val and the minstrels, or had she been here even longer, skulking around the village and gathering all the gossip she could get her hands on?
Before Veronyka could locate her again, a loud crackling sound, followed by a searing hiss, filled the air.
She thought one of the phoenixes had ignited at first, but when she searched the sky, a flare of light drew her eye to the golden statue atop the temple. Apparently it doubled as a beacon, but rather than black smoke, like the village signal fires, whatever special leaves or grasses the Riders burned changed the smoke into vivid scarlet, tendrils of it crawling over the statue’s surface like a phoenix in a fire dive.
As Tristan made his way down the ladder, people moved swiftly in and out of the building below, carrying bedding and crates of supplies. The sacred space was being transformed into a kind of infirmary, and Veronyka wondered if Sev was in there now, and how many more would join him before the night was out.
Meanwhile, the courtyard was filling with volunteers—cooks, villagers, servants, and stablehands—and Veronyka lined up next to them.
She wiped her sweaty palms against her thighs, her heart hammering, and tried her best not to think about the reality of what was happening—of what volunteering to fight would mean. It felt like crossing some imaginary line, as if by participating, she was deciding to stay here once and for all. Whether or not that was true, she couldn’t just stand aside while Tristan and the others risked their lives, and she didn’t want to see the empire strike another blow to the Phoenix Riders.
As Tristan crossed the cobblestones, Veronyka caught sight of Val, standing in the shadow of the temple. She watched the volunteers with idle curiosity, but she made no move to join them. Veronyka fought against a pang of disappointment. Since when did Val shrink back from a fight? But then again, her sister didn’t think this fight was theirs to begin with.
Tristan’s face was grim as he surveyed the group. A few stragglers joined the ranks, and he began his progression along the line of volunteers. Next to him, a guard pushed a wheelbarrow of weapons, helping the new fighters choose a sling or crossbow or whatever best suited their abilities and size.
Veronyka couldn’t hear more than a low murmur, but one by one volunteers were given weapons and assigned positions. There were some children from the village that Tristan gave safer duties, like running messages or carrying waterskins, and Veronyka thought she spotted Sparrow among them.
At last Tristan turned to Veronyka.
“I’m ready to fight,” she said, not waiting for him to speak.
He took a long time to respond, so long that the silence between them grew from a breathless moment to a yawning chasm. Was he going to deny her? The thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now, and for once his emotions were locked up tight and out of her reach.
He forced a smile and laid a bracing hand on her shoulder. Veronyka knew immediately that this was not going to go as planned. Her breath came more shallowly, and she was suddenly aware of the dozens of eyes on her.
“You’ve only just begun your training,” he said quietly. “I can’t expose you to danger atop the walls, knowing that it was my decision that put you there. We could use more runners, or—”
“A runner?” she repeated, her voice flat. “Like the children?” Her neck and ears tingled with heat as whispers broke out around them.
“Nyk,” he said, but she didn’t let him continue.
“We’re all in danger here,” she said, hands gripping the rough fabric of her trousers to stop them from shaking.
“Nyk,” he said again, leaning in close, “there are plenty of other important tasks, not just running messages. Ersken will need help tending to the phoenixes in the Eyrie—not just the females.” He said this last bit as if he thought it would cheer her up. Maybe, a couple of days ago, it would have. She remained stony before him.
“Please don’t make this harder than it is,” he begged, eyes glittering with some suppressed emotion. Guilt? Pity?
She couldn’t believe he would deny her this in front of everyone, shame her in front of the other apprentices who watched nearby. He’d promised to help her and had told her that she belonged among them. That she’d make a good Rider. Now he was treating her like someone weak and useless and in need of protection.
He was treating her like Val always did.
Veronyka’s throat tightened with unshed tears, but she forced out her next words.
“Harder for who?” she asked, not bothering to keep her voice low. With that, she pushed past him and ran from the courtyard.