Tristan should have known better.
He’d been assigned the easiest, tamest area to watch, a segment of the surrounding land that was so safe, they usually didn’t patrol it at all. The opportunity he’d so longed for immediately became an insult.
It was a useless post, and Tristan knew his father was behind it.
Ever since that day on the bluffs two weeks ago when he’d failed to make the jump, Tristan had been waiting for his father to bring it up, to use it against him in some way. Never mind that Tristan had since completed the exercise correctly nearly a dozen times; he’d known that one slipup would come back to haunt him.
And here it was.
Tristan had seen the look on the other apprentices’ faces when his patrol was announced: Several clearly pitied him, while others smirked at what they saw as a deflation of Tristan’s overlarge ego. The reaction of the Master Riders was worst of all: They stared openly at Tristan and his father, seeing it as an example of favoritism. Like his father was trying to give him an easy path.
It only proved how little they knew him.
Tristan pushed the thoughts from his mind, imagining them floating away on the wind that whipped across his skin. He tried to focus on his patrol, urging Rex to fly in the crisscrossing pattern they’d been taught, but there was nothing to see.
As a rule, they stuck to the air above the very upper reaches of Pyrmont, not wanting to draw attention from the empire or the villages on the lower rim. They flew only one daylight patrol, soaring so high up that they appeared as no more than distant specks—perhaps a particularly large eagle or falcon—to anyone on the ground. The rest of their patrols were at night, which allowed them to fly lower, but of course the landscape was more difficult to see in the darkness, no matter how superior a phoenix’s eyesight. This left them blind to a lot of what was happening in Pyra, and in the empire beyond.
This was why Tristan had pushed for more horse-mounted patrols. He had also pushed to accelerate the apprentice program, so they could put together a third patrol group. He had been rebuffed at both turns.
And now, just when he’d thought things were happening for him, he’d been sent to float above the Pilgrimage Road like a kite in an Azurec’s Day parade.
With an unspoken command, Rex banked hard, and together they set their sights to the east. Tristan had long since memorized their patrol grid and knew where there were gaps in their surveillance. The road didn’t need watching; the wilderness did.
The moment Tristan deviated from his orders, a bubble of exhilaration inflated inside his chest. Rex flew faster, and they surged up and down with every powerful thrust of his wings. This was the land of Tristan’s Pyraean ancestors, and right now he felt as if he claimed it for himself. He wanted to discover its secrets, to know the mountain better even than those who were born here. As he soared through the sky, he wasn’t the son of an exiled governor; he was a Phoenix Rider, like the legendary warriors of old.
He identified familiar landmarks as he flew: the domed houses of Montascent, the last still-occupied village before the thrust of rock that led to the ruins of Aura; the serpentine twist of the River Aurys, snaking down the mountainside; the staggered row of carved phoenix statues that lined the path on the way to the village of Petratec—and the lone figure, cutting through the long grasses between the village and the river, making their way toward the bridge that led to the Phoenix Riders’ hidden base.
Tristan almost fell from his saddle.
While Rex tucked his wings and dove for the skulking traveler, Tristan fumbled for his horn. The ringing sound drew the person’s gaze, but they didn’t run or wave; they simply froze, openmouthed and gaping, neck craned toward the sky.
The instant Rex landed, Tristan leapt from his back, drawing his spear and leveling it at the intruder. They locked eyes—and Tristan’s heart sank.
It was just a boy, some kid barely into adolescence, scrawny and dressed in rags.
He was definitely Pyraean, with large, deep-set eyes and dark brows. His mess of straight black hair was cut in a jagged cap around his head, and his brown skin was smudged with dust and dirt.
They stood in awkward silence until the thump of beating wings echoed from above. Tristan squeezed his eyes shut. The nearest Rider patrol had answered his call and were about to discover that he’d raised the alarm over this child—and of course, the nearest patrol just happened to include the commander. Dreading what would come next, Tristan fixed his gaze on the boy as the Riders—including Ronyn and Elliot, the other apprentices chosen for patrol—descended, kicking up grass and leaves in a gust of warm wind.
Rex shook his wings and edged closer to Tristan, puffing out his chest in an attempt to assert dominance as phoenixes landed all around them. There were eight new Riders in total: a full patrol, plus the two apprentices and everyone’s mounts. The phoenixes retained their flight formation, feathers bristling and heads tossing as they stood in a rough V shape, and every single Rider had a bow or spear drawn. They scanned the area, ready for a threat, and it took them several moments to notice the boy Tristan held captive.
Cassian, patrol leader and commander of the Phoenix Riders, pursed his lips, then made a quick gesture for the rest of his Riders to stand down. Weapons were put away and arrows returned to quivers as the entire patrol—except for the commander—dismounted. Even the phoenixes relaxed their postures and quelled their battle fever.
At last Commander Cassian turned his attention to Tristan.
“Sir,” Tristan said, bowing his head slightly.
The commander’s face was expressionless, yet there was a rigidity to his features that told Tristan he was much angrier than he looked. Tristan tried to square his shoulders and stand his ground, but he had difficulty meeting the commander’s eyes.
Yes, he had disobeyed orders, but he had also found a strange traveler dangerously close to their hidden base, proving those orders were flawed. The intruder was a small, unarmed boy, but it was better to be overcautious than caught off guard.
He hoped.
“You’ve found a child,” the commander announced from astride his phoenix, turning his imperious gaze toward Tristan’s captive.
“He’s an unknown traveler,” Tristan said, feeling slightly foolish for being the only one with his weapon out, as if he were afraid of the boy. He lowered it slightly. “I was only following protocol.”
“Protocol?” the commander repeated, his voice cracking like a whip. “If you were truly following protocol, you’d still be patrolling the ninth quadrant, where you were assigned, and not raising the alarm for an underfed, unarmed child.”
Low murmurs rippled through the group of Riders, who stood in a semicircle around the boy, their mounts looming behind them. The boy cowered slightly, and Tristan let the butt of his spear hit the ground.