Tristan looked like he wanted to retort, a spasm crossing his face as he fought to control himself. “Yes, Commander,” he said through clenched teeth. Then he strode out the door, slamming it behind him.
The atmosphere in the room changed with his departure, and Morra’s presence in Veronyka’s mind receded. She and Cassian shared a look, and Veronyka got the feeling that she had passed their inspection.
“Thank you, Morra,” the commander said at last.
With a nod at Veronyka, Morra got to her feet, following Tristan out of the room. The commander retook his seat. They were alone.
“When I was a boy,” he began, settling comfortably into his chair, “becoming a Phoenix Rider was a family legacy—something I inherited, much like my title and my lands.” Veronyka was thrown by the turn the conversation had taken, but she tried to follow along. “For years I served, and our mission was clear: to guard the empire and protect its people. But,” he said with a sigh, “the Blood War saw our duty muddled beyond recognition. I lived to see the Phoenix Riders change from a government-sanctioned military order to a rebellion, to something akin to a private army. Under Avalkyra Ashfire, we served her purpose—her ambitions and her goals—and no one else’s. With her death, those of us who survived struggled to find our place in this new world order. I have since recognized that our mission, our purpose, cannot be to one person, one country, or even one province; it must be to all people, but especially to our fellow animages. We are united—not by political boundaries or cultural histories—but by magic. We are everywhere, and yet we have nowhere. We have no safe place, no home to call ours. I seek to rectify that. Azurec’s Eyrie is a start.”
Veronyka’s heart swelled with his words. He was right. The Phoenix Riders that had served the empire for almost two hundred years were no more, and they had to come together for a new purpose.
“That being said,” the commander continued, “we are a small operation at the moment, and I have to be prudent. We must build our strength slowly, cautiously. In the beginning it was just myself and Beryk—we’d flown together in the war, and I knew where he’d gone into hiding in the aftermath. It took us years to find Fallon, a young Rider who’d yet to see any action, and we stumbled upon him mostly by chance. Surely there are others, Phoenix Riders in hiding all over the empire and beyond, but we cannot go searching blindly for them and risk drawing attention to ourselves or to them. It wouldn’t do for the empire to learn that Riders are mustering on Pyrmont. The empire may have little interest in reclaiming Pyra, but it would have great interest in destroying us.”
“But I didn’t—I would never . . . ,” Veronyka began, confused. She’d thought they’d determined she wasn’t a threat.
He waved her off. “What I mean to say is that recruiting has been difficult for us. While there are many with the gift of animal magic, there are few with the gold to fund their training. Raising, housing, and feeding phoenixes costs money, Nyk—my money—not to mention the price of a horse, fireproof saddle and tack, armor, and weapons. I have to feed guards and servants, pay wages, build and make repairs, and my coffers are not what they once were.” He lifted the dagger from the middle of the table, turning it over in his hands before giving it back to her. “Phoenixes are too rare and precious for us to have poor peasant lads bonding with them, who are then unable to afford the cost of proper training. I’m sorry.”
Helplessness seized Veronyka as she gripped the hilt of the dagger. Suddenly Phoenix Riding was only for the rich? The First Riders didn’t have coffers filled with gold; they had phoenixes, the only wealth a person ever needed.
She swallowed a number of angry replies and fought to keep her voice steady. “There must be other ways, means of earning a place . . .”
“There are,” the commander conceded. “When we recruit, the current Riders have the option of sponsoring one of the new applicants. Several of our current apprentices are being sponsored by Master Riders. They’re called underwings.”
“So, when you recruit again, I could apply as long as I found a sponsor?” Veronyka asked, a flicker of hope sparking to life inside her.
The commander looked uncomfortable. “Sponsorships are difficult to come by, Nyk. Those who can afford to take on an underwing are likely to pick friends and family—not a stranger.”
“But I could still try,” Veronyka pressed stubbornly.
“Indeed you could,” he said, his voice resigned, “but I don’t have plans for recruitment anytime in the near future, and we can’t afford to board you here while you wait.”
“There must be other ways I can earn my keep and help the Riders in the meantime,” she said desperately, leaning forward. “I could cook, clean, be a servant—maybe work in the stables?”
The commander pursed his lips. Then his expression cleared, and he bowed his head. “I’m sure our stable mistress, Jana, would welcome the extra help.”
Veronyka’s heart leapt despite her disappointment. Sure, she’d come here to be a Phoenix Rider—not to muck out stalls and feed grain to pack animals—but it was still something. It was still a way to be involved. And it wasn’t a no. She would work harder than anyone, show them she deserved to be here, that she had so much more to give.
And when the time came for the next recruitment, she’d have multiple sponsors lined up and would be the best damn applicant they had.
The Sekveia, or the “Second Road” in the Trader’s Tongue, is a deserted path through the wilds of Pyrmont and a mysterious relic of the ancient world—both in origin and in purpose.
Some historians suggest it was built in an attempt to expand the Pyraean Queendom and connect some of its smaller settlements on Pyrmont, with the hopes of developing a thoroughfare for trade that could lead all the way to the valley, though this idea never came to fruition.
It has also been postured that the Sekveia was actually built centuries earlier by civilizations unknown to us, possibly the now-extinct Lowland peoples. This is supported by the fact that many of the ruined temples and structures that can be found along the Second Road bear no resemblance to Pyraean architecture built before or after the empire.
Perhaps most outlandish of all these claims is that the Sekveia leads to the famous lost treasure of the Pyraean explorer Wylan the Wanderer, who disappeared himself after declaring he would fly his phoenix around the world.
The details of his exploits have been chronicled in many songs and poems, perhaps none more famous than the play titled The Wanderer’s Fortune. During a particularly successful run on Mummer’s Lane, the lead actor had hundreds of false treasure maps distributed to promote the show. It created such a fervor that mobs broke out and several people were trampled to death, causing the play to be temporarily shut down.
—Myths and Legends of the Golden Empire and Beyond, a compilation of stories and accounts, the Morian Archives, 101 AE
I wonder what they would call me now if they knew that I was the one who killed her.
- CHAPTER 15 -
SEV