He glanced down at her, his eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. She felt inadequate next to him, short and scrawny, her eyes too big and her nose too small, while he was all muscle and long limbs, with his artfully tousled hair and dimpled smile.
“You make me happy,” Veronyka said—and then was so shocked she’d said the words that she almost clapped a hand to her mouth. Instead more words burbled up from inside, trying to drown out the memory of the first ones. “I mean, training with you . . . helping you, and you helping me, has made me happy. And being near Rex—and the others—but mostly you and Rex, and . . .”
She squeezed her eyes shut, praying for one of Nox’s deathmaidens to come carry her to the dark realms so she never had to face Tristan again.
“Me too.”
Veronyka’s eyes flew open. Tristan wasn’t looking at her, but his throat bobbed with a dry swallow. “So . . . what do you think?”
“About what?” she asked in a daze. Wind’s stall felt impossibly small all of a sudden, and the quiet of the stables pressed in on every side. All she had to do was extend her arm and she’d be touching Tristan, alone in this cool, dark place.
“Will you stay? Give it a chance?”
Before Veronyka could answer, the front gate creaked open, followed by the crunch of boot on straw.
The footsteps drew nearer, and then Wind’s stall door burst open, revealing the commander standing in the doorway.
“Sir,” Tristan said, leaping to his feet. Veronyka did as well, though she knew the damage was done. They were hiding away inside a shadowy stall, covered in bits of dirt and hay, and scrambling up from the ground as if they’d been caught doing something illicit.
Then she remembered that Tristan was supposed to be in lessons, and her anxiety spiked even higher.
The commander surveyed them closely, his gaze cool and precise, as if picking up on every minute detail. “You have lessons this morning, Apprentice.”
“Yes, Commander Cassian. I was just—”
“Socializing?” He made it sound like a dirty word.
Veronyka kept her head bowed, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, unsure if she should jump in or let Tristan handle things.
“It’s lucky I needed a quick word with Beryk, else I might never have known that you ducked out of your lesson and shirked your responsibility.”
Tristan’s lips twisted, as if “lucky” was the last word he’d use for this situation.
The commander leaned forward. “There is a time and place to fraternize with servants and stableboys, and the middle of your lessons is not it.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tristan said in appropriate chagrin. “Please, do let me know when and where that is.”
Veronyka groaned internally and had to press her lips together to stop the grimace—or was that a smile?—that was trying to force its way through.
The commander stared at his son, nostrils flaring. “Clearly you are not taking your training seriously. Perhaps it’s time for my inspection. I know it’s a week early, but I’m quite eager to see how far you’ve come and if your extra lessons have taught you anything of value. I do hope you’re prepared, Tristan. I’d hate for you to make a fool of yourself . . . again. I’ll see you in one hour’s time, Apprentice.”
Veronyka’s anxiety was like a wild animal burrowing inside her stomach as she stood next to the obstacle course with the rest of the stablehands.
It wasn’t Tristan’s abilities that had Veronyka’s insides tied in knots—it was the commander’s reaction she most feared. Even if Tristan executed the course flawlessly, it might not be enough. The commander was always hard on his son, but after he saw Tristan skip a lesson this morning—and assumed that Tristan wasn’t taking his training seriously—Veronyka worried he’d be impossible to please.
Commander Cassian was just like her sister, and people like Val didn’t do what was right for the sake of it. The commander was a shrewd man, but more than that, he was controlling. And for whatever reason, he didn’t want Tristan to be a patrol leader. Instead he used the possibility of that prize as a means to keep his son in line. No matter how well Tristan performed, the commander wouldn’t give that up unless he absolutely had to, unless Tristan gave him no other choice. But could they push the commander to that decision?
When he called the apprentices to attention, Veronyka noticed commotion at the village gate in the distance. Beryk and the rest of the Master Riders, dressed in their full armor and riding leathers, were walking toward the obstacle course. The commander smiled as the apprentices whispered and pointed—clearly he’d asked the patrol members to come and watch, and the students had known nothing about it.
Perfect, Veronyka thought with grim satisfaction. She wanted to force the commander’s hand, and what better way to do that than in front of an audience that could hold him accountable? There’s no way the commander could maintain that Tristan wasn’t skilled enough if the entire Rider force—apprentices and masters alike—saw him excel. Veronyka just needed to give them incontrovertible proof. Tristan couldn’t simply do what the rest were doing. . . . He had to go above and beyond.
The commander spoke a few words and indicated that he’d invited the Master Riders so that they could “see what you lads have been up to,” but Veronyka recognized manipulation when she saw it. The commander had invited the small crowd for added pressure, not to satisfy the Riders’ idle curiosity.
Still, they did appear interested, leaning against the paddock fence as the apprentices lined up and prepared to demonstrate their skills on the course. Unlike with their first run-through several weeks ago, they were expected to attempt the final flourish and have their phoenixes ignite at the end.
Veronyka knew this would be Tristan’s true challenge.
He had done it multiple times in their extra practice sessions, but now the pressure was higher than ever before.
As Anders began the exercise, one of the stablehands rushed to latch the gate shut before a hound slipped out. It was Petyr, and though he managed to close it in time, it gave Veronyka an idea.
A plan began to form in her mind, a plan that was risky and downright foolish. Not to mention the fact that it had the potential to blow up in her face—and Tristan’s. She needed to talk to him, but he remained too close to the commander.
Most of the apprentices had improved, but no matter how well they did with the course, every time a phoenix ignited, horses bucked and dogs howled. Two pigeons took flight and circled back to the village, and somehow a quiver of arrows caught fire.
When Tristan guided Wind over to the beginning of the course, Veronyka rushed forward to fuss with a strap. Her hands shook with adrenaline, but she did her best to angle her body to hide her face from the audience’s view. Tristan glanced down, a perfect mask of haughty impatience on his face, though he could see quite plainly that there was nothing wrong with the saddle.
“What is it?” he whispered, pretending to help adjust a buckle.