They could send more phoenixes to help, but they’d already lost two—neither of which were bonded. How much more devastating would it be if one of the apprentices lost their bondmate? Veronyka knew that if Tristan sent anyone, it would be Rex. He wouldn’t condemn anyone else to that fate. He would shoulder the burden himself.
Veronyka sought him out and had her worst suspicions confirmed. Already he was signaling Rex, but when the phoenix turned midflight, he didn’t head to the burning village gate to take up the defense. He flew toward Tristan.
He means to go with his bondmate, she realized, her throat constricting in sudden panic. He means for them to fight—and maybe die—together.
Veronyka moved slowly through the crowd, as if wading through water. She didn’t know what she would say or if she intended to try to stop him, but she had to get there.
Tristan spotted her approach, and their eyes met, dead bodies and burning ropes between them. His expression was bleak.
Then his face contorted in pain, and he clutched at his arm, stumbling to the ground. Veronyka ran, pushing people aside as she fell to her knees next to him, looking for the arrow that had found its mark—only, there wasn’t one. Rex screeched from somewhere above, and Veronyka whirled around: There was the arrow she sought, embedded in the space where Rex’s left wing connected with his body. He dropped, staggering down into the open space of the courtyard below.
Veronyka helped Tristan to his feet, and he shook off the phantom wound that had pierced his shoulder through the bond. Rex landed awkwardly near the back of the courtyard—probably trying to make it into the Eyrie, but unable to fly that far.
“Ersken!” Tristan screamed as they rushed to Rex’s side, his voice ragged. Veronyka doubted they were close enough for the man to hear, but then a tiny figure appeared out of nowhere—Sparrow, doing her part as a runner—hurtling past in a blur as she bolted through the archway into the Eyrie and out of sight.
Tristan gripped Rex’s flailing head, trying to soothe him, while Veronyka looked at the wound. The arrow shaft had pierced straight through the muscle and sinew of the joint, so that the wing lost all mobility. He would heal more quickly than other animals, but there was no way he could fly right now.
Ersken ambled through the archway, a heavy satchel in hand.
He dropped the bag with a clank of bottles and healing instruments and checked the phoenix’s shoulder. Tristan’s eyes were wide and feverish, his hold on Rex tense. Ersken’s movements were deft and quick as he surveyed the damage. Sparrow remained just outside their group, but Ersken called her over and ordered her to retrieve items from his bag. Her hands trembled as they flitted over the bottles and jars, but Chirp was nearby, and she managed to find the items he sought.
“He’ll be fine, lad,” Ersken said, turning away from Rex to mop the blood from his hands—which smoked and left angry red welts on his fingers. “And there’ll be no lastin’ damage, as far as I can tell. But he can’t be flyin’ any more tonight.”
Tristan didn’t respond, and try as she might to resist it, Veronyka couldn’t help but feel the dazed numbness that radiated from him. He was lost without his phoenix . . . and so was the gate.
Xephyra nudged Veronyka’s mind, and she looked up to see her bondmate circling the sky above. Xephyra, with whom she was so recently reunited. Xephyra, who was technically too young to be ridden, but large for her age . . .
“Tristan,” Veronyka said, stepping closer and turning him slightly, so he couldn’t see as Ersken continued to treat Rex—though she suspected he felt it through the bond. “We don’t have time to linger here. Rex can’t help us, but Xephyra can. We have to get to the gate.”
Veronyka looked at Tristan closely for the first time since they’d rejoined the fight. He had a split lip and bruising along the side of his face; his tunic was bloodied and torn. He shook his head slightly, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair, and cast his gaze about as if searching for another solution.
Above, Xephyra tugged on their bond, more insistently than before, and a second later Veronyka saw the world through her phoenix’s eyes. They were mirroring.
Fire. Blood. She lost herself in her bondmate’s complex mind and supernatural senses, but Xephyra steered her consciousness toward the village gate.
The last burning piece of the wooden doors gave way under the fierce blow of a soldier’s ax, while both attackers and defenders tripped over the abandoned weapons and bodies strewn across the ground. Smoke and arrows were heavy in the air, filling the wide-open space where the gate had once been.
Now, Xephyra said in her mind.
“Now!” Veronyka said with a gasp, returning to her own mind and body.
Tristan shook his head again. “I told you, I’m not going to sacrifice your life. You and Xephyra have never flown together. It’ll have to be one of the other apprentices. I’ll get—”
“The gate has fallen; we don’t have time,” Veronyka said desperately, calling Xephyra down to land on the ground next to them. Rex let out a melancholy croon, and Xephyra answered with a bolstering wail of support. The rest of the phoenixes were engaged in the fighting, swooping and soaring above, their bondmates busy and distracted. “You’re right, I don’t have experience—but you do. We can go together.”
“Veronyka . . . ,” Tristan said, desperation clinging to his voice as he eyed Xephyra. In the back of his mind, his fear of fire kindled, wanting to be let lose, but Veronyka sensed him clamp down on it.
“We go together, or I go alone,” Veronyka said, steel in her voice. The empire had already taken her parents and her grandmother. She wouldn’t allow them to take anything else. “We can’t let them into the village.”
“We don’t even have a saddle,” Tristan complained, but his words were cut off by a loud thud. Sparrow, panting slightly, had just dropped a strange-looking saddle onto the ground next to them. This was no horse’s saddle, but a phoenix saddle, with extra straps and buckles. Both Veronyka and Tristan stared in surprise, but it was Ersken who first spoke.
“There’s no time for you to debate it. Make your choice, and get on with it,” he said, patting Sparrow on the shoulder before returning to Rex’s injury. The girl beamed, proud of herself, before hurrying to hand Ersken bandages from his pack. The saddles must be stored somewhere close by, and he’d ordered Sparrow to retrieve it while Tristan and Veronyka argued.
Tristan hesitated another fraction of a second, then—
“Fine,” he said, and picked up the saddle.
He glanced at Veronyka as he approached Xephyra, and she hastened to tell the phoenix what was happening and to allow Tristan to saddle her. The prospect of being ridden by her Rider caused a surge of joy to ripple through Xephyra’s body, though she was wary of Tristan.
He has to come, Veronyka told her soothingly. I need his help—we both do.