What is it?
“Oxana senses something.”
“An apprentice?” Avalkyra asked, lifting her head and extending her magic.
“No,” Sidra whispered, just as a familiar ripple of awareness drew Avalkyra’s attention to the forest. No, not an apprentice.
Onyx, she said, sending her bondmate after the sensation, though Avalkyra already knew what she would find.
There was a rustle of disturbed leaves and a crack and splinter of wood, then a muffled sound of pain. Onyx burst out of the trees, a human eavesdropper dangling from her beak.
“Doriyan, Rider of Daxos,” Avalkyra said as Onyx landed before her. “I thought you were done sneaking and spying.”
He had been following them since they’d left the Eyrie—just as Avalkyra had hoped he would. She had made sure that the Phoenix Rider scout saw her as well, so that both could corroborate that she was here, in Rushlea, and without her horde.
With nothing but a fractured bond between them, Avalkyra had to adjust her tactics and find new ways to get in touch with Veronyka.
Onyx stomped irritably, wanting to snap Doriyan’s neck and tear his flesh, or simply sink her claws into his body and drain him dry—but Avalkyra shook her head. She knew her bondmate was getting tired of always being held back and pushed down.
Soon, Avalkyra promised her. Soon you will have your fill.
With a snort, Onyx tossed the man to the ground like a rag doll, where he sprawled into the dirt. Then she claimed a perch up in the trees, alert and watchful. Doriyan’s phoenix was no doubt somewhere nearby, as was Oxana, but Avalkyra reminded Onyx again that now was not the time. She bristled at the restraint, scraping her claws in the bark of the branch beneath her in long, savage swipes.
Even his brief contact with Onyx had put a sheen of sweat across Doriyan’s skin, and his muscles trembled with the effort of getting to his knees. Sidra did not look much better.
“No farther,” Avalkyra said softly, and he froze, huddled on all fours like the dog he was.
To her surprise, he didn’t spare her a moment’s glance. His focus was entirely on the woman next to her.
“Sidra,” he said, voice pleading. “You don’t have to do this anymore. You’re a Phoenix Rider. You don’t have to serve her—you don’t have to serve that.” He flung a hand at Onyx. “I can see it’s killing you. It’s killing her.”
Avalkyra was confused for a second; then she realized he must be referring to Sidra’s bondmate. It was true that Sidra looked worse for wear these days, and her phoenix was positively droopy whenever Avalkyra laid eyes on her. Doriyan had probably noted both when he’d followed Sidra from Aura Nova.
“I have a message for your new master,” Avalkyra said.
He frowned. “I have no master.”
“Don’t you?” she asked with a smile. “That’s what happens to all strays. Cast aside by one master, they go seeking another.”
He lifted his chin. “I was never cast aside.” He turned his gaze to Sidra. “I left,” he said entreatingly, as if to show her that she could do the same.
“That’s right,” Avalkyra jumped in. “You left her. Shows what your loyalty is worth.”
Sidra’s face faltered—she’d never thought about it that way before. Avalkyra grinned. She would now.
“If you’re loyal to Veronyka,” she continued, “then you’ll deliver my message. Tell her that I wish to speak to her here, in Rushlea. Tell her to come alone. If she fails to heed my request, the village will pay the price.”
“Why should I play your errand boy?” he asked, getting cautiously to his feet.
Avalkyra tilted her head, considered breaking into his mind. He had rejected her bind once before, but she had been bondless then. Hordeless. She was apexaeris now; she could crack him open like an egg if she wanted to, but she fought the urge. Veronyka would sense it and distrust his message at once.
“I plan to offer her terms, that’s why.” He looked surprised at that. She shrugged. “You are scattered and outnumbered, and the empire is about to march. You need any advantage or opportunity you can get. Do you really have a choice?”
He took a step back from them, then another.
Sidra reached for the bow and arrows slung across her back, but Avalkyra held her in place. Onyx, too, tensed on the branch above, ready to dive.
Leave him.
Doriyan paused, unnerved by her apparent restraint.
“Go on,” Avalkyra encouraged, all benevolence and grace. She need not wrench a promise out of him.… She knew her message would be delivered whether Doriyan liked it or not. “Run back to your master like I know you will.”
He hesitated a moment longer, then there was a gust of wind as his phoenix landed between them. Doriyan was still climbing into the saddle when the creature took off again.
Sidra watched him disappear into the sky.
He would rush to Veronyka’s side to share whatever scraps of information he’d overheard inside the barn—nothing Avalkyra was worried about—and while he was at it, he’d have no choice but to tell her about Avalkyra’s message.
Veronyka would come. Avalkyra might not hold the same sway over her she once had, but still, when she beckoned, Veronyka came—as long as there were innocents involved. Avalkyra had proved it time and again. And whatever Veronyka might want personally, the Phoenix Riders couldn’t ignore this chance.
They would attempt to use the opportunity to plead their case, to beg for friendship, for mercy, for whatever might save them.
Little did they know, there was no saving them. What Avalkyra wanted and needed was their complete and utter destruction. She suspected even Veronyka knew that, and still… she tried.
“Come, Sidra,” Avalkyra said, turning back toward the barn and, more specifically, its cellar. “I have a task for you, and you’ll have to leave at once.”
She followed, but not before glancing back over her shoulder. “What if he doesn’t deliver the message?”
“He will,” Avalkyra said smugly. “He still has hope.”
Foolish hope. Avalkyra’s favorite kind.
In the study of Axura and Nox, little attention is paid to the importance of balance.
Yes, Axura must be victorious, elsewise Nox would devour all—as is her nature—and shroud the world in night.
But Axura’s victory did not bring us endless day, did it? No, we still require that darkness, for it reminds us of the importance of light. During the night, the moon thinks of the sun. And during the day, the sun remembers the moon.
Too much of either would lead to ruin, and so the two will battle each other for all eternity.
That is the balance.
—“The Importance of Balance,” from Essays on Magic, by Morra, priestess of Axura, 166 AE
To be apex is to shoulder the glory and the blame. To be at fault. To be the first and last defense.
- CHAPTER 41 - TRISTAN
VERONYKA SHOOK TRISTAN AWAKE in the darkness.
“Rider Council meeting,” she said urgently, tugging Tristan’s hand. As they exited their tent, dawn was little more than a gray haze in among the towering trees.
He didn’t think she’d managed a wink of sleep. She’d spent half the night trying to connect with Val, and when that failed, she’d spent the rest tossing and turning, fuming about it.
Tristan was secretly relieved. He knew it was cowardly and selfish, but his own sleep had been brief and uneasy, broken up with half-formed nightmares of Val bursting out of thin air and stabbing Veronyka in the heart. He wished the bond between them would dissolve entirely.
They rushed to Agneta’s house, the rest of Haven still sleepy and silent, and filed into the commander’s room. He was sitting up in bed, Hestia next to him, with Alexiya and Theryn in attendance as well. Tristan shut the door and walked into the center of the room.
It was still hard to see his father like this, expression drawn in pain and his usual leather armor or finely woven tunics replaced by s
ome threadbare nightshirt someone had given him. His face had more color than the last time Tristan had visited, however, and his bedside was surrounded by papers and empty teacups. There was a window against the far wall, its shutters thrown wide to reveal Maximian perched comfortably on an outside branch.
“It seems both our enemies are on the move,” the commander said as everyone stood around his bed. His voice was strong, even if his appearance was not. He reached for a letter on the top of his stack, wincing slightly. “As you all know, Avalkyra left the Eyrie yesterday, and according to my contact in Aura Nova, the empire is preparing to march as well.”
“But their armies couldn’t possibly have gathered that quickly,” Tristan said, glancing to Theryn for confirmation. He was a soldier, after all—or had been—but it was the commander who spoke again.
“They will make do with the forces immediately available to them. Lord Rolan’s death has achieved more than his fearmongering while he was alive ever did. They are frightened, and even those who do not truly believe we mean harm can’t argue against the threat we pose. They know we are responsible for his death, and Sidra’s attack on the Grand Council made us an easy scapegoat.”
“How many?” Theryn asked, his expression grave.
The commander glanced down at the letter. “General Rast himself will be leading the attack and is taking whatever soldiers were on hand in the capital or within a day’s march. Their best guess is five hundred, give or take.”
Five hundred. It was a fraction of what the empire could muster if given more time, yet it was still too many. Rolan’s soldiers had done plenty of damage over the past few months, and he’d never sent such a large number—and certainly not all together.
“That will just be the initial march. The rest of the army will continue to gather outside Aura Nova, and if we prove… resistant, well, the empire could send nearly two thousand before the week is out.”
“Resistant. You mean, if we fight to defend our lands?” Alexiya asked heatedly.
“Or if Avalkyra does,” Veronyka said. All heads turned in her direction. “Whatever we want, Avalkyra will not let them leave without a fight—even if it’s one she can’t win. She’ll attack and antagonize and blame it on us, like she’s done with Sidra. Which means the empire will just send more soldiers against us.”
“Not to mention all the civilians caught in between,” Tristan muttered. “Can’t we tell the council? Explain to them that there are other forces at play here?”
The commander shook his head. “To them, she is one of us—whatever she rides. I’m afraid they see us all as the same thing: Mages. The council has voted, and it cannot be overturned. The general is the sole person who could negotiate a treaty now, and it would be a temporary measure. A wartime cease-fire. Only then could they call another Grand Council meeting and hold another vote.”
Veronyka actually perked up. “So we’d just have to convince him instead of the whole council?”
“He is not a man to make peace or cut deals,” Theryn warned.
There was a soft knocking on the door.
“Are you expecting someone else?” Tristan asked.
“Come in,” his father called, rather than answering, and the door swung wide to reveal Doriyan silhouetted in the frame. He looked almost exactly as he had when they’d first met, his hair wild and his eyes wilder. “Doriyan arrived from Pyra barely thirty minutes ago. I wanted to get him fed before we—”
“Doriyan?” repeated Theryn, his voice unnervingly flat. He was staring fixedly at the new arrival, his face a mask of open hostility.
Standing next to her brother, Alexiya looked between them before realization dawned. It struck Tristan a moment later. Doriyan was there the day Pheronia died and Veronyka was whisked away.
Alexiya reached for her brother’s arm, but she met with air as Theryn lunged for Doriyan, his hands closing around the man’s throat and slamming him into the wall. The entire house shook, and Tristan wondered idly at the maximum capacity for these aerial treehouses as he darted across the room.
Theryn’s teeth were bared, his arms corded with muscle as he attempted to choke the life out of Doriyan, who despite his bulging eyes and stumbling feet scrambling for purchase, did not fight back.
There was a shriek somewhere outside, and the commander shouted something. Beating wings and scraping talons on the roof above told Tristan that Daxos must have been perched nearby and, sensing Doriyan’s distress, had rushed to his bondmate’s defense. Maximian, also nearby, had likely intervened.
Tristan got his hands on Theryn’s shoulders, while Alexiya gripped one arm and Veronyka the other. Veronyka was wide-eyed with shock, and Tristan too was surprised at the potency of Theryn’s anger, the way it rolled off him in waves.
Together they pulled, allowing enough room for Doriyan to breathe around Theryn’s fingers, though Veronyka’s father continued to struggle.
Slowly he came back to himself, noticing the pressure on his arms and the surge of people around him. He released Doriyan’s neck as if it were hot to the touch, his fingers splayed as he took a halting step backward. Tristan let him but remained close to his side, a hand on his shoulder in case he decided to make another move.
Theryn didn’t resist it, but the look he tossed Doriyan was filled with molten anger so powerful that Veronyka swayed on her feet. She had been standing between the two men, and now bent to rest her hands on her knees.
Are you okay? Tristan asked, certain this had something to do with shadow magic—he himself felt a little woozy—but Veronyka was already straightening. She nodded.
Doriyan’s expression was bleak. He remained against the wall, body slumped and chest heaving as he caught his breath.
“He was following orders,” Alexiya said to her brother, before moving to check on Doriyan. “Like all of us.”
“He watched me weep over a cold, dead baby that I believed was my own child,” Theryn spat, his voice ragged. “And he did nothing.”
“That’s true,” Veronyka said, moving into her father’s eye line until he was forced to drag his burning gaze off Doriyan and look at her. The violence in his expression dimmed. “But afterward, he was ordered to hunt you down and kill you—and he did nothing.”
Theryn was apparently startled into silence, and beneath Tristan’s hand, the tension left his shoulders.
Veronyka turned to the commander and the room at large. “This is Avalkyra’s doing,” she said. “We have to stop her. I have to stop her. Doriyan, please—tell me you have something.”
“I know where Avalkyra is,” he said, his voice rough from the recent attack to his vocal cords. “And I know what she wants.”
He was looking at Veronyka.
“No,” Theryn whispered.
“What did she say?” Veronyka pressed, ignoring her father and moving closer to Doriyan, blocking Theryn from the conversation.
“She wants to speak to you in person—alone,” Doriyan replied. “To discuss terms. She has joined forces with the Unnamed and taken control of Rushlea. If you don’t meet her there, she will take it out on the villagers.”
The Unnamed. Veronyka had already told him that the Rushlean farmers who had accosted them weeks back had allied with raiders and bandits and turned themselves into a full-fledged, homegrown militia—but their alliance with Val was new. And troubling.
“That is exactly the kind of stunt she used to pull with Pheronia,” Theryn said pleadingly to the commander, his hands clenched into fists, and his hair askew. He looked like a man on the edge of a precipice, his patience fraying down to its last threads. “It will not save the villagers. It will do nothing but feed into Avalkyra’s egomaniacal needs.”
The commander pinched the bridge of his nose. “It is not just the villagers at risk. Some of our apprentices are there.”
“What? Who?” Tristan demanded.
“I’m not exactly sure. The oldest recruits… They were sent several days ago to help with the usual supply runs an
d to make sure those fleeing the attack on the Eyrie were safe and settled.”
“What if we went in full force?” Alexiya asked.
“The Unnamed,” the commander said, turning to Doriyan. “How many are there?”
“Difficult to know for certain,” Doriyan replied. “I’ve seen no more than forty or fifty at any one time, but I overheard some of their meeting with Avalkyra. I did not hear exact details, but I think they mean to ambush you. They could use the mine. Not only are there two entrances next to Rushlea, but it connects to tunnels all over Pyrmont. They could bring in forces from anywhere, and in any number.”
“This is too dangerous,” the commander said, shaking his head. “There’s too much we don’t know. We could be flying into a trap.”
“Of course it’s a trap!” Theryn burst out. “She’s sending Doriyan to do her dirty work, just like before.”
“Even if it is,” Veronyka said steadily, “I want to go.”
“Why would you risk it?” Hestia asked, speaking for the first time. “What could she possibly say to you?”
Veronyka’s eyes sparked. “I don’t care what she says, I care that she’s there without her flock.”
“That is what Fallon reported,” the commander said thoughtfully. He looked at Doriyan.
“I followed her directly from the Eyrie,” he confirmed. “Besides Sidra and Oxana, Avalkyra has only the strix she rides.”
Tristan’s heart started thumping in his chest, feeding off the spark of excitement coming from Veronyka.
“We may never get another shot at her this vulnerable,” she said. “She left her best defenses behind so that I’d come, so that I’d feel like I was safe from her—but she isn’t safe from me.”
“What do you mean?” Alexiya asked, but Tristan thought he was following Veronyka’s line of thought.
“The Grand Council might not be unified in their support of me, but they would be in their hatred of her,” Veronyka continued. “Think about it. She wants me there to fight me or capture me or force me to do something I don’t want to do. But what if we go there to capture her instead?”
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