Her palms were so sweaty, she could barely hold the handle, but she did her best to focus. While Veronyka might be able to block out the feelings of other people and animals, Xephyra was bonded to her, and their joint emotions swirled together as the fight wore on. The war cry that ripped from Xephyra’s beak left Veronyka’s throat dry, and the heat that rippled from her wings caused Veronyka’s skin to itch.
She encouraged her bondmate to mimic Rex’s flight patterns, and after much nudging and convincing, Xephyra began to follow him through his dives and circles. The other two females, on the other hand, did whatever they pleased. Xatara was screeching relentlessly, ripping and snapping at anyone and everyone, not just the soldiers. Luckily, the attacking arrows drew her attention more than the defenders on the wall, so she harassed their encampment below and tore climbers from the wall with beak and talons.
Xolanthe focused her attention on the village gate, which was billowing clouds of black smoke as it burned. Veronyka didn’t understand why the phoenix flew in that direction; maybe she felt somewhat territorial about the area or was drawn there by the fire.
Veronyka watched, heart in her throat, as Xoe dove among the attackers. She was smaller than most of the full-grown phoenixes, but it didn’t stop her from wreaking havoc on the soldiers storming the village. The more they tried to attack her, the more vicious her dives became. They’d brought nets with them, similar to the one the commander had used to trap Xephyra, and Veronyka bristled at the sight of the hated metal mesh. They tried several times to catch Xoe, but she managed to dodge their attempts, screeching in irritation and swooping back around.
In a gust of flame and sparks, she dropped among them, only to rise again with her claws sunk deep into the side of the massive battering ram. Phoenixes could carry heavy loads, but even still, she struggled to take flight. The soldiers holding it clung desperately for a moment, then dropped to the ground, backing away and taking up bows and spears instead. Another net flew into the air, snagging on the ram but missing Xoe’s wing by mere inches.
Fingers of dread slipped down Veronyka’s spine. She tried to throw her magic to the phoenix, to warn her, but she was too far away, and there was too much happening in between them for her to establish any kind of connection. Instead she stared, unmoving, as Xoe pumped her great wings, slowly rising from the mass of soldiers surrounding the front gate, dragging the ram with her.
From underneath her feathers her fire burned, growing hotter and brighter as her plumage began to smolder, then burst into flame, heat waves rippling over the grassy plain as the phoenix and the wooden ram ignited. With a victorious shriek, she dropped the burning assault weapon among the soldiers and spread her wings for flight, unencumbered by the heavy object that had been gripped in her claws.
Veronyka let out a sigh of relief—but it was too soon.
One of the attacking archers lined up his shot and loosed, the arrow lodging itself in the middle of Xoe’s chest. She shrieked, and the agonized sound drew the attention of everyone in the stronghold.
Xoe beat her wings and struggled to fly, but she was still within range. As the embedded arrow shaft caught fire, three more followed it, peppering the side of her body and her left wing.
She keened, her inner light flickering as she banked hard, flapping her good wing, trying to remain aloft. But her flight was imbalanced and sluggish, and the sparks that flew from her body turned to ash as she fell among the rooftops of the silent village. She disappeared from sight, but Veronyka knew, somewhere deep in her magical senses, that the phoenix was gone. She had no bondmate to gather her body or build her pyre, and by the time someone at the stronghold found her—if anyone survived this attack—would it be too late? Or would she choose not to come back anyway, allowing her fire to turn to smoke, her flesh to ash, and her spirit to be free at last?
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Phoenixes were magical, immortal if not slain. They weren’t supposed to be in chains, behind bars, or shot down by empire soldiers. Xoe had fought bravely for the Riders only to have her moment of victory ripped from her and her life extinguished.
A violent screech rent the night, and Xatara burst into sudden, savage flame. She dipped into the trees that dotted the mountainside below, only to surge up again moments later with two soldiers clutched in her talons. She dropped them from a sickening height, their terrified screams and burning bodies disappearing into the forest below, but Xatara wasn’t finished.
She shrieked again, swooping around the edge of the compound and leaving everything—weapons, ropes, and people—burning in her wake. Flaring brighter than the sun, so bright that Veronyka had to shield her eyes, Xatara flew ever upward, farther and farther away. Where she was going, Veronyka didn’t know, but soon she was nothing more than a distant speck of light . . . then nothing at all.
The defenders watched her go, and Veronyka could feel their resolve wavering. Two phoenixes gone in moments, and the others emitting low, sorrowful cries of sadness and despair. One of the males abandoned the fight to soar in melancholy circles over the village. It occurred to Veronyka that she didn’t know which phoenix had laid the egg inside the enclosure, but she guessed it was Xoe, and this mourning male phoenix was her son.
Veronyka turned away, mind racing frantically as she tried to regroup. What now?
Tristan’s words came back to her once more: You have other strengths, you know.
What strengths? How did being a strong animage help them when they were under attack?
And then, as if she were having a conversation with him in her mind, Tristan’s voice answered with more remembered words: If phoenixes have the desire to fight on behalf of the humans they care about, why not other animals as well?
Veronyka whirled around, heart racing. “Tristan!” she shouted, running to his side as he helped hoist a barrel of rocks and debris over the edge of the wall, emptying the contents down on the climbing soldiers below. He left Ronyn to finish the job and came to Veronyka’s side, chest heaving.
“We lost both of them,” he said, running a filthy hand through his hair, leaving blood and dirt smeared across his forehead. His eyes were wild, and his hands were trembling with fear, adrenaline, or maybe both.
“I know,” Veronyka said, and they both turned as a wrenching crunch rose above the din. Part of the village gate collapsed in a cloud of smoke, and the only thing that kept the soldiers from rushing into the newly made gap was the fire licking up the sides of the wood and the scrambling defenders tossing spears and loosing arrows into the open space. It was only a matter of time before the entire structure gave way.
“Tristan,” Veronyka said, drawing his attention back to her. “I have an idea, something . . . reckless.”