“Steward for what?” Veronyka asked, still watching their slow progression. As far as she knew, stewards ran households for rich lords and merchants in places like Marble Row, where the empire’s wealthiest lived. Veronyka remembered seeing the stewards and their attendants at the local markets, purchasing all the best food, wine, and finery for their employers. The concept of a manor household filled with staff wasn’t something that had ever taken hold in Pyra—even the wealthiest of Pyraean merchants, farmers, and tradespeople employed only a bare-bones staff: a cook, an animage or animal keeper, and maybe a household attendant to clean and maintain the home.
Sparrow had turned away, leaning her back against the wall as she picked at a bit of twine on her spear. “For that exiled governor’s house. They say he’s an old hermit, walled inside his country estate, and he sends his steward to the villages every month or two. Sometimes they come looking for stablehands or . . .”
Veronyka stopped listening to Sparrow. The steward’s voice was growing louder, and she was shocked to hear the man speaking ancient Pyraean. It hadn’t been an official spoken language in at least a hundred years, slowly phased out in favor of the Trader’s Tongue.
But Veronyka knew it. It was still part of upper-class education, and so her maiora had learned it, thanks to her status as a Phoenix Rider. She had been common born, just like Val and Veronyka, but being a Rider elevated you to the highest echelons of society. Or at least it used to.
It took a moment for Veronyka to understand what they were saying—she hadn’t spoken it much since her grandmother was taken from her.
But there was one word she would never forget—one that Val made sure she always remembered.
Phoenixaeres.
Phoenix Riders.
Veronyka lurched to her feet, seeking out their faces, hoping to better hear their conversation. They continued to speak in Pyraean, but seeing their lips move helped Veronyka puzzle through it.
“. . . enough for everyone, including the underwings. We ran out last month.”
Veronyka’s heart was beating very fast now. Underwings were Apprentice Riders. These travelers were here on behalf of Phoenix Riders.
The lane twisted away before she could hear any more, and they soon passed out of sight.
“He always goes to the Vayle market,” Sparrow said, getting to her feet.
“The market . . . ,” Veronyka muttered, turning on the spot and looking back down the hillside. “Where—”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Sparrow said, and Chirp agreed, trilling loudly before zipping forward to lead the way.
Sparrow didn’t bother with the road. She cut directly through the trees, down the sloping ground like water over a riverbed, swift and smooth, either very well connected to the bird who flew just in front of her, or so familiar with her surroundings that she didn’t need guidance. She used her spear like a walking stick, poking aside brambles and stepping over rotten logs.
Veronyka did her best to keep up, stumbling over gnarled roots and getting her hair snagged on branches, her mind whirling.
The steward’s arrival provided Veronyka with some much-needed hope—and focus. The outpost had been a bust, but all was not lost. He’d mentioned both Phoenix Riders and underwings—surely that meant whatever exiled lord he served had been a Phoenix Rider. Still was. And they had Apprentice Riders with them as well.
Maybe they would take her with them when they returned to the Riders’ estate. The thought lightened her heavy spirit, filled her with a sense of opportunity . . . and yet there must be a reason they were speaking ancient Pyraean to each other and claiming to simply work at a country estate.
They didn’t want people to know they were Riders.
It was wise, especially on the lower rim, so close to the border to the empire. But if Veronyka told them she’d overheard their secret, would they welcome her or be angry with her for eavesdropping?
“What was it you said about stablehands, Sparrow?” she asked, thinking back on their earlier conversation.
“Most of the time the steward comes for food—bags of dates and casks of honey wine,” she said, “but other times he needs extra help with horses and hounds and the like, so he brings workers back with him.”
“Animages?” Veronyka asked. Surely “stablehands” was code, their way of recruiting without drawing unwanted notice.
Sparrow nodded. “Only boys, though.”
“What—why?” Veronyka asked, her theory unraveling. There had been male and female Phoenix Riders since the dawn of time. The First Riders were all women, chosen by Azurec—Axura, she corrected herself, then immediately thought of Val. Hot anger burned through her body, but she pushed it down, refusing to let her sister take hold. In the early Pyraean tribes, women were the hunters and fighters, and so Axura chose them to help fight the darkness and bring balance back to the world. It wasn’t until the next generation that daughters and sons rode, and even during the height of the Phoenix Riders in the empire, the women outnumbered the men.
Maybe they really did need help in the stables. Not that girls can’t do that, too, Veronyka thought irritably.
“Something about sleeping bunks,” Sparrow continued skeptically. “As if boys and girls can’t sleep side by side without trying to stab each other.”
Veronyka cast Sparrow a sidelong glance, unsure if the girl was trying to speak in innuendo and messing up the subtleties, or if she really thought it was fighting the steward might be worried about.
Still, the idea nagged at her. Could it be true? Could Veronyka have found Phoenix Riders regrouping on Pyrmont only to discover that she couldn’t join them anyway?
It must be a mistake. She would talk to them, convince them that she belonged.
As they stepped onto the road, Sparrow began pointing to houses and shops, indicating who lived where and what they sold. She knew about their families and their friends, old grudges and new romances, and if ever she were uncertain of who she was seeing or where they were, all she needed was a quiet tweet from Chirp to get her back on track.
The buildings were mostly made of large local stones, except for their roofs and shutters, which were made of woven slats of wood, painted in sun-bleached shades of blue, yellow, and red. Tinkling wind chimes and bright flowers added more color to the stony village.