“. . . should be able to assess the situation without exposing your patrol. Keep a safe distance and do not engage unless absolutely necessary.”
“It’s probably just a regular raiding party,” Fallon replied, while his fellow Riders nodded. “No doubt it’ll be over by the time we arrive. We’ll approach on foot and help with the cleanup if we can.”
“There’s never been a raid this far up the mountain,” Tristan said, speaking from the back of the group. The Riders turned to face him. “Didn’t you say it looked like it was coming from Rushlea? There hasn’t been a raid higher than Runnet since we’ve been here.”
The commander’s eyes flashed in his son’s direction, before returning to their usual calm. Veronyka wondered if he was still angry about Tristan’s defiance the previous night.
“There’s a first time for everything,” he said dismissively. “Ride out at once, and send a pigeon as soon as you can.”
The patrol hurried to the Eyrie to mount their phoenixes and depart. The commander’s attention shifted to Tristan, and Veronyka backed away slightly. He definitely still looked angry.
“I don’t want to cause a panic,” the commander said under his breath, so quietly that Veronyka had to strain to hear it—but strain she did. “So keep your observations to yourself, Apprentice.”
The throne was mine, and I would seize it with both hands.
- CHAPTER 35 -
TRISTAN
SO KEEP YOUR OBSERVATIONS to yourself, Apprentice.
Tristan should have known his father wouldn’t invite his opinions, especially after their conversation in front of the breeding enclosure. Commander Cassian did not like to be questioned or debated—least of all in front of others. It had been only Ersken and Nyk last night, but that had been enough. Tristan was ashamed to admit that Nyk’s collapse had been very well timed—dealing with his friend had provided the perfect escape from his father’s wrath.
Until now. Tristan feared his small act of defiance would keep him on the sidelines forever, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret what he’d done. It had been exhilarating to stand up to him, and letting the idea of the promotion go was surprisingly freeing. Without that dangling over him, Tristan could do and say what he wanted, and his father could do nothing to stop him.
Except exclude him, of course. Tristan sighed.
Luckily, all the commotion meant that any talk of the breeding cages was forgotten for the time being.
The fog remained for most of the morning, clinging to the Eyrie and the stronghold like an ominous cloud. Rather than the five or so guards who usually manned the walls, there were close to twenty prowling the ramparts, and even more stationed in the village and at the way station down the mountain. All lessons for the apprentices were canceled, as half of the Riders—some of them instructors—were gone, and it was too dangerous to have the phoenixes flying when there was an unknown threat nearby.
The entire Azurec’s Eyrie complex was on lockdown—which meant that any local villagers who still remained after the solstice festival weren’t allowed to leave for safety reasons. Rushlea was more than halfway up the mountain, uncomfortably close for a raider party to attack.
Tristan fumed at the idea that they could have prevented this, that if they’d had more patrols, they could have stopped such an assault from happening. He understood his father’s concerns, that they’d stretch themselves too thin, but the longer they left Pyra unguarded, the greater the chances that the empire would gain a foothold here.
Since Tristan had none of his own lessons or duties to attend to, he joined Nyk down in the enclosure with the female phoenixes. The birds were riled up and restless, snapping when Nyk slid the food through the slot and even more agitated as the day wore on and they weren’t allowed out for their exercise.
Nyk seemed less upset to be down there than he had the previous night, Tristan watching with a smile as the new phoenix interacted with one of the other females—Tristan was pretty sure his father had named her Xolanthe—and actually laughing when the two playfully nipped and trilled at each other. Tristan’s heart lightened at the sound. He had done the right thing standing up to his father against the breeding cages, no matter what it cost him personally.
Tristan did his best to assist Nyk with his duties, since Ersken was busy tending the apprentice mounts, but he sensed he was more of a hindrance than a help. Every sound from the stronghold above—the bells tolling the hour or the shout and clang of servants going about their usual work—caused Tristan to jerk upright or strain his hearing, often knocking over barrels of feed or stumbling into Nyk in the process.
Lunch came and went, and still there was no message or word from Fallon’s Riders. Patrols rarely took this long—and if they did, a pigeon was usually sent with an update. The commander remained poised atop the battlements, and the atmosphere in the stronghold was tense.
By midafternoon Tristan couldn’t sit still and had taken to pacing in front of the enclosure. His father had told him off for doing the same thing out on the walls, where everyone could see, so he’d returned to the bottom of the Eyrie.
Nyk seemed stressed too, or maybe Tristan’s mutterings and shuffling feet were putting him in an agitated mood. He had accidentally stepped on Nyk’s toes more than once, and he expected he was one stomping away from being told off, when a horn blast echoed off the stone walls rising all around them.
Tristan froze, and didn’t move again until the second and third blasts sounded.
He stared up at the sky, brows knit together.
“Does that mean . . . did they light another signal?” Nyk asked, looking between Tristan and the upper levels of the Eyrie. “Is there another attack?”
Tristan shook his head slowly, uncertainly. Yes, he was about to say, though he didn’t want it to be true. What other reason would they blow the horn three times? “I have to go,” he said, and ran up the stairs. Nyk’s footsteps sounded in the stairwell just behind him, and together they emerged into the courtyard.
Tristan’s heart sank. He could actually see the thick column of smoke that was rising in the distance, visible over the soaring cliffs to the east. This wasn’t the original signal, and it was clearly from a different village altogether.
Two raiding parties?
Tristan found his father and waited impatiently as he spoke to some guards. The instant they were dismissed, Tristan spoke.
“That looks like it’s coming from Petratec,” he said. “Someone has to go.”
The commander must have recognized the look on his son’s face, because he answered the unasked question with a forceful jerk of the head.
“Absolutely not—you’re not ready,” he said, and Tristan deflated. “I will go.”