“What’s your issue with the lordling?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the arch Tristan had just passed through. Her gaze was knowing as she sprinkled flour onto the stone table, pressing a roller over the ball of dough, her strong arms flattening it in several short strokes.
“He’s the one with the issue,” Veronyka said. She knew she was responsible for some of his animosity; she shouldn’t have commented on his magic—or pried into it at all, even if it was mostly by accident—and she probably shouldn’t have stepped in that morning at the training exercise. But it was clear he held other resentment toward her, thanks to her arrival on his patrol route and the questioning that came after it, and Veronyka refused to take the blame for that.
Morra laughed. “Oh, he’s not all bad. He’s got more of his mother in him than his father. Those of us who knew her see it—as soon as he sees it, things will go easier.”
“What do you mean?” Veronyka asked. “Who is his mother?”
Morra absently rubbed the thigh of her amputated leg and reached for a mug of pungent herb tea she often drank to dull the pain.
“Tristan’s mother, Olanna, came from a very old Pyraean family. Most think only Cassian can claim a noble lineage, being an ex-governor, but the history of the lesser kingdoms is young compared to the bloodlines of ancient Pyra. Olanna was a Flamesong, and their family tree goes all the way back to the First Riders.”
Veronyka’s heart leapt; she loved hearing about the First Riders. They were part of the Phoenix Rider creation story, legendary figures that were chosen by Axura in her fight against Nox.
Val had shown Veronyka a giant fresco in Aura Nova that had escaped the council’s purge of phoenix-related artifacts, hidden between two old buildings in a narrow alley. The plaster was peeling and the colors were faded, but it was still the grandest thing Veronyka had ever seen. It showed the battle between light and dark—Axura’s flaming phoenixes pitted against Nox’s darkness, depicted as ink-black birds trailing wisps of shadow. Strixes, Val had called them, and the word had caused a chill to crawl up Veronyka’s spine. They were more than just death and darkness personified; they were harbingers of the end of the world.
The entire thing sounded more myth than history to Veronyka, but until this day Phoenix Riders claimed descent from those mighty warriors. Val said the First Rider Queen was an Ashfire, the start of an unbroken line that ruled for a thousand years—starting in the Queendom of Pyra and then in the Golden Empire, up until the Blood War tore everything apart.
“Cassian’s family ruled Ferro—as kings in the beginning, and then as governors,” Morra continued. “It was some great-great-great-uncle of his that married Elysia and ruled as king consort when the empire was founded and then elevated his brother to the role of governor in his homeland. Tristan’s certainly got the look of his father, but right here”—Morra tapped a finger to her chest—“he’s his mother. It’s from her that he gets his compassion and his sense of right and wrong. His temper, on the other hand, is Cassian through and through.” Morra leaned in, lowering her voice. “They say there’s Stellan blood in the commander’s line, and that’s where he gets his love for plots and politics—though I’m sure he’d deny it until his dying breath.”
Veronyka smirked. Stellans had a reputation as troublemakers and warmongers. At least, that’s what Val had told her. Stel was the largest and most powerful of the provinces, and before it was part of the empire, it was a commonwealth of more than a dozen kingdoms. The kingdoms spent centuries warring among themselves as much as with their neighbors—usually Ferro, with whom they shared a border—and had difficulty reaching satisfactory terms with Queen Elysia’s growing empire. Stel was the last region to join and had apparently been heavily involved in the Blood War, backing Pheronia—who was Stellan on her mother’s side—against Avalkyra and providing military and financial support.
“Did Olanna fight in the Blood War?” Veronyka asked.
“Oh yes. She served the Feather-Crowned Queen, same as her husband, and even when the final battle was lost, she continued to fight. While Cassian met with the council, asking for clemency and offering up information in order to keep his governor position, Olanna was helping hide Riders and their families. It wasn’t just Avalkyra’s soldiers being captured and killed—anyone with animal magic was in danger. Olanna smuggled hundreds out of the valley and safely into Pyra. She smuggled me out, even though it looked like I might die from my wound. She was a good woman, Olanna.”
Morra cleared her throat and got to work on the next lump of dough, her movements jerkier than before.
“Wait,” Veronyka said, putting aside the cutter and facing Morra directly. “The commander tried to cut a deal while his wife was out risking her life? He ratted to the empire?” She couldn’t contain the sneer that curled her lip or the contempt that tainted her voice.
“There’s many who saw it that way, it’s true,” she said, putting aside the roller. “But it wasn’t as simple as that. He and Olanna disagreed on methods, but their goals were the same. He thought if he could just retain his position on the Council of Governors, he could save us . . . he could save her. The magical registry was only an idea then, but it was easy to see how such a law could take hold amid the rampant fear and hatred after the war, and we needed someone on the inside, someone who could represent us and our interests on the council. So, he turned himself in. He offered information, but he didn’t have anything of real value—mostly names of people already caught and condemned or bases long abandoned. But his efforts were for nothing.”
Something about her tone made dread uncoil in Veronyka’s stomach. “What happened to Olanna?”
“She was caught,” Morra answered with a heavy sigh. “What she did was risky, and it was only a matter of time before she was brought in. Tristan had been sent away to live with some servants in the Ferronese countryside. But Cassian was still in the empire’s custody when she was captured, and he attended her trial. All his connections, all his political maneuvering, and he couldn’t save her. Olanna was deemed too dangerous to be kept alive and serve her term in bondage like so many others. She was executed for treason, and her phoenix beheaded. Her death sent shock waves through the empire and scared the last remnants of Avalkyra Ashfire’s rebellion into submission. If, with all her status and wealth, Olanna could be butchered, then no one was safe. Cassian has not been the same since. They chose to spare his life but not his position on the council. I think they rather enjoyed seeing him broken and exiled . . . a once-mighty governor brought low. Perhaps they thought he could serve as an example or a cautionary tale. The council named some Stellan lord governor in Cassian’s place and banished his entire family from the empire.”
The disdain Veronyka had been feeling just moments ago slowly ebbed away. It was so incredibly cruel, and she couldn’t help feeling a pang of pity for both Cassian and Tristan.