Nyk nodded, staring at the phoenix. “Yes, that suits you, you regal-looking fellow.”
“Stop that,” Tristan snapped as Rex drew himself up straighter and puffed out his chest. Tristan’s self-righteous anger was deflating in the face of this boy’s obvious affection for his bondmate. “Scat,” he told Rex, who ruffled his feathers and took off.
Tristan turned to Nyk. “If all you do is charm and flatter the animals, then how did you get Wind to obey you so easily this morning? You’re telling me you asked nicely and didn’t force your will, your magic, on him? Only Rex has ever obeyed me like that.”
Nyk sighed, as if Tristan had asked him this question a thousand times and he was tired of answering it. He turned away before responding. “I just convinced him, is all.”
“You just convinced him?” Tristan repeated skeptically. “Don’t lie to me,” he said, thinking of his father’s constant games and deceptions. “There’s nothing worse than a liar.”
“I’m not lying,” Nyk answered hotly. “And the reason he obeyed instantly, and without hesitation, is that he was familiar with me already. If you befriend the animals, if you treat them as equals, they’ll trust you, and once they trust you, they’ll obey you. Without a command and without question. That’s what I meant with Storm today. If he trusted you, he’d have stayed by your side.”
Tristan shook his head. It was absurd. “You’re too soft-hearted for this line of work—like a little girl who wants to cuddle puppies.”
Nyk’s face contorted in outrage. “As opposed to you—too manly to admit when you’re wrong? To admit that sometimes being kind is better than being cruel? Deny it all you want, but I know you’re as soft-hearted as me, xe xie.”
With that, Nyk stomped back up to the village, the rabbit cage tucked under his arm, while the pigeon, the dog, Wind—even Rex, soaring through the air—followed like a row of ducklings behind.
Tristan gaped after him, stunned that the boy had the nerve to speak to him that way. But as the shock wore off, his mind replayed the events of that morning, when he’d first met Wind. No matter what he said to Nyk, it was his instinct to be kind and gentle to animals. His father had done his best to change this, but whenever Tristan was scared or nervous, it was his default.
“Xe xie . . . ,” he murmured, shaking his head. It was what his mother had called him as a young boy, the Pyraean words ingrained in his memory, while her face faded a little more each day. Sweet one . . . dear one . . . Tristan hadn’t realized that he’d said those words out loud before. Maybe that was why his father had punished him so severely. The commander’s ancient Pyraean was a little bit rusty, but surely even he would remember that phrase.
Tristan stood in the field for a long time, night descending around him, before finally walking back through the darkness alone.
POSTMORTEM EXAMINATION
Deceased: King Aryk Ashfire
Birth: Day 27, Twelfth Moon, 129 AE
Death: Day 6, Fifth Moon, 165 AE
Age: 35
Witness Account: Queen Lania of Stel On the evening of Day 5, Fifth Moon, 165 AE, Queen Lania claims that King Aryk wished to retire early after dinner, citing stomach pains and exhibiting fever symptoms. When Lania joined him in his chambers several hours later, it was to find him in bed, unresponsive, with a burning fever and vomit-covered sheets.
The king was placed under High Priestess Deidra’s care, and the court sat vigil at his bedside. The sickness took him before eighth bell on the afternoon of the following day.
Witness Account: Fenton, captain of the King’s Guard Captain Fenton claims King Aryk retired on the evening of Day 5, Fifth Moon, 165 AE, in good spirits, intending to have an early morning walk with his beloved hounds. He had no visible signs of illness or discomfort.
Physical Examination
Date: Day 7, Fifth Moon, 165 AE
Conducted by: Deidra, High Priestess of Hael, and Ilithya, Acolyte of Hael No evidence of forced entry or struggle. An empty cup was found on King Aryk’s bedside table, as he was well-known to enjoy a glass of spiced honey wine before bed, which he would fix for himself. The cask of wine, honey, and spices were all checked for poison or spoilage, but no toxic materials or signs of tampering were discovered. Body exhibited symptoms of intense fever, dehydration, and stomach illness.
Diagnosis: Death of natural causes, possibly phoenix flu, sweating sickness, or other airborne virus.
Update
Date: Day 10, Fifth Moon, 165 AE
Conducted by: Ilithya, Acolyte of Hael Empty cup examined, and trace amounts of suspicious, dark residue discovered embedded into ridges of the embossed metal. The chalice was known to be the king’s favorite, an Ashfire heirloom once belonging to Ferronese King Damian himself. Further testing required to identify the nature of the substance.
The only people with access to the king’s bedchamber—and his private collection of favored treasures—were himself and his wife, Queen Lania.
Sometimes the title of queen is given; sometimes it must be taken. And sometimes the honor becomes so drenched in blood and betrayal that it is slippery to the touch, but we reach for it nonetheless, poison on our fingers and vengeance in our hearts.
- CHAPTER 19 -
VERONYKA
VERONYKA HID IN THE kitchens during dinner.
She was still angry with Tristan, and he was definitely still angry with her, so she didn’t want to see him any sooner than she had to. Morra put her to work the moment she sidled in, but Veronyka didn’t mind. She picked at a plate of honey-drizzled sweet cakes that the cook set out for her, while using a mold to cut pastries from a flattened length of dough. She plopped the rounds onto a nearby tray, while Morra rolled the remaining bits into fresh sheets for her to cut.
As long as Veronyka kept her mind occupied, she didn’t fear the woman’s shadow magic. As far as she could tell, Morra didn’t use it unless absolutely necessary.
Of course, Morra didn’t need shadow magic to know that something was bothering her. When Tristan walked past the open archway that led into the kitchen on his way to the dining hall, Veronyka couldn’t help the scowl that crossed her face.
“I think it’s cut, lad,” Morra said dryly. Veronyka looked at the woman, confused, until she nodded down at the piece of pastry Veronyka had been cutting—and which she had ripped in half with a savage jerk of the mold.
“Oh, sorry,” Veronyka said, removing the cutter so Morra could gather the ruined dough and reroll it.