While Avalkyra never admitted to the murder of her stepmother, she was the prime suspect. She fled into Pyra, avoiding her own trial, and began the process of separating the province from the empire. Treaties were signed, boundaries redrawn, and Pyra became its own country again. Pheronia had not been crowned in her absence, as she was still underage, but the council ruled the empire in her stead, earning her the nickname the Council’s Queen.
Hearing Morra recount hers and Olanna’s stories made Veronyka reconsider what she thought she knew about the Blood War. She’d always imagined Avalkyra Ashfire as a hero, going down in a blaze of glory, the war ending with her last breath. But war wasn’t one or two big moments; it was dozens of smaller ones, enacted by people like Morra and Olanna who continued to fight even after their cause had lost. Suddenly Avalkyra Ashfire’s shining flashes of greatness looked rash and foolish. Avalkyra hadn’t just fled persecution when she’d set up in Pyra. She’d turned her back on the people of the empire, leaving thousands of her supporters, as well as innocent animages, behind. Thanks to her actions, many were condemned to bondage, imprisonment, even death, and it was left to people like Morra and Olanna to make things right.
There’s more than one way to fight a war. There were fiery battles and court intrigues, but there were also daring rescues and selfless sacrifices.
Veronyka thought of the bondservant she’d seen outside her cabin all those weeks ago, the way his face had lit when he’d seen Xephyra, when he’d seen her—a fellow animage, living in freedom. She remembered what Commander Cassian had said about a new purpose for the Phoenix Riders, about creating a safe place for their people.
Before, Veronyka’s visions of being a Phoenix Rider involved soaring through the air and raining arrows down on some fiery battlefield. Now that picture changed, shifted. She saw herself protecting wagons of animages, children, old folks, and everyone in between—people like her, lost and afraid and in need of a home. The idea made her skin tingle. That was a battle worth fighting.
Lost in thought, it took her a moment to notice Tristan’s approach. His bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder, and his soft brown hair rippled in the evening breeze. Veronyka went to Wind, making sure he was properly saddled—which she’d already done at least three times.
Tristan ignored her once more, mounting up. While he was still stiff and unsmiling, he seemed less angry than he had been the previous night—or even earlier that morning—as if his temper had finally cooled.
With a nudge of his knees and a wordless command, he turned Wind around, called the pigeon to his shoulder and the dog to the horse’s heels. As he readied his weapon and moved to the beginning of the course, the distant sound of pumping wings told her that Rex was on his way.
She waited for Tristan to begin, determined to avoid any further arguments. After several moments, however, she stepped forward. Why wasn’t he starting the course? Was something wrong with him, or with Wind?
“Are you—” Veronyka began, coming up alongside him, but Tristan interrupted her.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, staring straight ahead.
“What?” Veronyka asked incredulously.
He sighed and looked down at her. “I said I’m sorry. It’s not—none of this is your fault. I was wrong to raise the alarm when I saw you on the mountainside, and I was the one who screwed up the obstacle course. If I were you, I’d have done what you did. Or at least I hope I would have. So can we just . . . forget it?”
Veronyka was stunned into silence. Growing up with Val meant Veronyka was extremely unused to apologies. All she could manage was a nod.
Tristan nodded back, cleared his throat, and began the course. He started stiffly, but soon loosened into his usual confident performance.
Veronyka stuck a hand into her pocket. She’d woven her shorn braids and their attached trinkets into something resembling a bracelet and had taken to carrying it around like a talisman. She often fidgeted with it, and she did so now, her fingers running along the familiar beads as she studied Tristan from a distance.
Ever since they’d met, he’d been nothing but angry, mean, and arrogant. It was hard to believe this calm, apologetic version of him was the same person. Of course, he’d been under a lot of strain, and his description of the commander’s behavior had reminded her all too much of Val. Clearly his father had wanted to teach Tristan a lesson, and Veronyka had been drawn into the mess.
Now not only was he apparently sorry for his previous behavior, but his entire energy and demeanor were different.
“Nyk?” he said hesitantly, his voice carrying from the far end of the course.
Veronyka jogged over. “Yes, Apprentice?” she said.
The words seemed to irk him. He scowled for a moment before clearing his throat. “You can call me Tristan,” he said.
“Oh” was Veronyka’s response. What was with him?
He sighed. “Can you—I’ll need you to do that distraction thing again. With the stick?” he added.
She hesitated. Was this some kind of test? “You want me to distract the animals again?”
“If I’m going to do all this”—he gestured around the field—“extra practice, I might as well push myself. We both know I can do this course, but that’s not the point. The point is to keep calm in the face of distraction, to be able to command a large group of animals without losing focus or control. You might have inadvertently made a fool of me before, but you deliberately made a fool of me last night. I don’t like to be bested—whatever the contest.”
Veronyka frowned. “I thought you wanted to forget all that?” she asked warily.
“This isn’t a trick. I . . .” His expression turned even grimmer. “I’m not like my father. I don’t want to be like my father. I’m not trying to embarrass you in return or to prove a point. I mean what I say.”
Veronyka nodded, understanding him at last. He wasn’t being manipulative; he was simply expressing himself—without ulterior motive. The day he’d found her, he’d been angry and frustrated, and his scowling face and argumentative words had told the story. Yesterday he had been humiliated, and so that was how he’d behaved, lashing out at her. Now he wanted to start over, so he had apologized and was inviting her help. He might be one of the most honest people she’d ever met.
It made her uneasy. She wondered how he’d feel if he knew she was a liar.
“Okay,” she said, peering around for a stick.
“There should be some in the bushes over there. Did you use your magic on the animals yesterday or just make the sound?”
“I didn’t use my magic. All I did was distract them. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she realized the thing she’d noticed about him, his change in energy. It wasn’t just his attitude.
It was his magic.
Veronyka reached out to the animals, confirming her suspicion. His pressure, his hold on them . . . it was different from yesterday. The dog and the bird had a loose understanding of what was happening beyond what they remembered from doing the course before. Wind, too, was familiar with the exercise, but even so, the magic that told him to stand still and be calm wasn’t a forceful push. . . . It was a request.