Sev looked between them all, at their tense expressions and the way they stood side by side with each other and their bondmates.
“But,” he continued, “I think if I were a Phoenix Rider, I’d fight for the Phoenix Riders I know, for those on either side of me.” He looked at Kade and Jinx to his right and Theo and her bondmate to his left. “We have friends fighting, and they’re up against something bigger than the empire, bigger than laws and borders and political affiliations. They’re fighting for us, for animages, for life, and I want to help them. We can help them. Together. Tonight.”
The feeling in the group was changing. The phoenixes stood taller, and their Riders lifted their chins. Below, voices continued to cry out for them, shouting and pleading.
“When all this is over, you can swear your loyalty to the Phoenix Riders, to the empire, or to no one at all. You can be whoever you want to be. But right now, I hope you’ll be with us.”
Sev moved toward Jinx, surprised to find himself face-to-face with Kade. His eyes were bright, his expression fierce, and it made a tingling heat sweep across the back of Sev’s neck. He thought maybe it was embarrassment—he’d never expected to make a rousing battle speech in a million years—but he found he didn’t mind. Not if it made Kade look at him like that. It occurred to Sev how much easier it was to be brave when he wasn’t always questioning himself. Maybe he was the hero Kade had accused him of being.… He’d just never truly believed it until now.
Kade’s eyes remained glued on Sev as he stepped aside, helping him into the saddle before climbing up in front of him. Next to them, Sev sensed Theo doing the same.
Sev adjusted Felix in his front pocket, hands shaking with adrenaline. But when Felix nipped his finger and Sev looked up, he saw each and every one of the others mounted up as well. Waiting on him.
Kade twisted in the saddle, grinning, and then Jinx leapt into the air, leading the charge, the rest of the phoenixes shrieking excitedly and flapping their wings. Trails of sparks glittered behind them, and every street they soared over echoed with cheers and applause, with hope.
Fear was an iron fist in Sev’s stomach, and he was unsure how helpful he could possibly be, a passenger on Jinx’s back and with a new hatchling clutched to his chest. But as they swooped past the city walls—even soldiers cheering out as they whipped past, toward the fight—a nearby phoenix cry drew their attention, and Sev’s mouth fell open.
Jonny and Rosalind were suddenly there, coming from the east with the entirety of Haven’s Phoenix Rider force soaring behind them.
But it wasn’t just them.
There were others, unfamiliar faces, grim and determined as they soared off to battle. Clearly, their recruitment efforts had not been in vain.
The commander’s phoenix, Maximian, was in the lead, Theryn on his back—and looking more than a little queasy. The rest fanned out behind him like individual sparks of fire.
Sev’s heart soared, and the others whooped and laughed, calling out greetings to one another. They seamlessly combined their forces, tucking in behind Maximian and making for the distant battle.
Sev gripped Kade more tightly; he had so much more to fight for all of a sudden, and so much more to lose.
But then he thought of his parents, fighting together—and dying together—and he realized that he had already made his choice. And it was a surprisingly soothing notion.
It was like he’d said to the others. Kade was a Phoenix Rider, and now Sev was a Phoenix Rider too—or he would be, once Felix was large enough. They were his to fight for, to protect, and wherever Kade and Jinx went, Sev and Felix would follow.
They remind me of us, when the world was young. When we were young.
- CHAPTER 61 - TRISTAN
TRISTAN SURVEYED THE BATTLE below.
It had taken some doing, but he and Doriyan had managed to convince the empire soldiers that they were friends, not enemies.
First, they’d had to take care of Sidra. Not only had she destroyed the bridge, but she’d made quick work of anybody daring to try to cross what remained of it: Bodies lay strewn along the shore or bobbing in the current, some of them as burnt as the bridge, others shot through with arrows.
“Can you keep her occupied?” Tristan had asked as he and Doriyan approached.
Without replying, Doriyan withdrew his bow. He nocked an arrow, touched it to Daxos’s crackling feathers, and loosed.
Tristan supposed killing her outright would work too—but apparently that wasn’t what Doriyan had in mind. Sidra turned before the arrow even left his fingertips, and Doriyan, for his part, looked wholly unsurprised as it whizzed past her head. His aim had been true, but Sidra had shifted ever so slightly to avoid it. She might have been stretching her neck or finding a more comfortable position in her saddle—and not narrowly dodging an attack that would have ended her life—for all the concern she showed.
The flaming arrow left a trail of smoke in the air, and Sidra touched the side of her face, as if feeling the residual heat. Then she leaned low in the saddle as her bondmate shot toward Doriyan. He fired another arrow, this one merely diverting Sidra’s flight, before urging Daxos to dive. Sidra followed him tightly, his every dip and maneuver mimicked, like she knew what he was going to do before he did it. They looked like dancers flying a complicated choreography, and something about it made Tristan’s chest tighten—they had been close once, and now they fought on opposite sides. But he supposed that was war.… It made a person choose.
With Sidra appropriately distracted, Tristan had turned his attention to winning over the empire soldiers. Luckily, the Unnamed provided a useful focal point. Several sweeps and a volley of arrows was all it took to show the soldiers where his loyalties stood and to get them on his side.
The bridge had mostly stopped burning by now, the wood charred and blackened, but the frame remained. They could rebuild it.
While the soldiers on the northern shore rallied together and kept the Unnamed busy, drawing them deeper into the fray and away from the bridge, Tristan crossed the river to the southern shore.
There was a good deal of disarray and no small amount of petty blustering between the border guards, who had their own internal pecking order, and the commanders and captains of the military. That wasn’t to mention the squabbling between soldiers, who bristled at taking orders from officers from other provinces. The general was the one person who outranked them all and could bring order to the chaos, but Tristan had no idea where he was or if he intended to do so.
Their desire for information, however, outweighed their suspicion of Tristan as he approached—and after he shared what he could of the attack in Pyra and their need for reinforcements, everyone fell in line and listened to his plan. Despite the fact that they had mustered in order to attack the Phoenix Riders, everyone seemed to take it as a given that while Tristan and the others might be dangerous, the strixes definitely were and, along with the Unnamed, posed the more immediate threat. The shadowbirds were drawing closer and closer to the river, whole groups of them breaking through Veronyka’s back line, and Tristan knew it was only a matter of time before they reached the river.
Veronyka had trusted him to handle the bridge, and given the way the battle was progressing, he had to get the reinforcements through.
Though Veronyka had finally managed to create heartfire—it scorched his lungs and seared against his breastbone, vibrating like an irregular heartbeat—Tristan could feel more than just the magic funneling through. He could feel what it cost Veronyka to use such a devastating, violent force.
It was not in her nature to destroy.
But if he did this right, if he salvaged the bridge, Veronyka might not even need to use heartfire. If hundreds of soldiers came rushing into the battle, maybe Val would see sense and retreat. Or better yet, maybe they’d capture her, and avoid any more bloodshed altogether.
Tristan’s strategy was simple: While the Unnamed were distracted with the fight on the northern shore, the soldiers
to the south would attempt to rebuild the bridge with whatever they had on hand—which meant disassembling catapults and wagons for lumber. They didn’t need a perfect structure, just one that would allow foot soldiers to cross.
Tristan soared overhead, giving both sides the benefit of his aerial view and launching arrows at the odd strix that broke through and reached the river, and to discourage any Unnamed who thought to fall back or defend the bridge. Crossbowmen lined the southern shore, providing cover each time soldiers dragged forward a plank of wood and launched it across the damaged structure to the remaining support beams, still solid underneath.
It was slow, it was imperfect—but it was working.
At least, until Sidra noticed. Then it was all Tristan and Doriyan could do to keep her occupied, diving and attacking and hurling arrows. She managed to get the attention of one of the Unnamed leaders, and soon they had organized themselves enough to split their numbers, half fighting the northern forces and the rest trying to undo the progress on the bridge.
Sidra fought with single-minded determination, and though Doriyan matched her in skill and style, it was clear he pulled his punches—he didn’t actually want to hit her with an arrow. He didn’t actually want to defeat her.
Bringing him might have been a mistake. The idea of killing a Phoenix Rider made Tristan’s stomach roil—but he would do it if it meant ending this. He wasn’t sure Doriyan could do the same. Not to this Phoenix Rider.
But he stuck with her, and managed to lure Sidra off again, giving Tristan a chance to pull back and survey the scene below.
The sun had long since set, and it was hard to distinguish friend from foe. Even in the sky, the strixes blended into the darkness, but night only made the phoenixes glow all the brighter, sparkling like falling stars.
“Uh, Phoenix Rider, sir?” called one of the captains from the southern shore.
“My name is Tristan,” he answered reflexively, landing before him.
“Daniel,” the man replied. It was a strange, utterly human moment amid the horror of battle, and Tristan was grateful for it.
If they had met under different circumstances, they’d have tried to kill each other. Now, thanks to Val, they were allies.
Daniel gestured toward the river, where massive planks of wood were piled near the water. “We could use your help with the larger ones, if you’re able.”
Rex puffed out his chest.
Considering the size of the beams and the span of the river, Rex and Daxos would have been ideal, but they did what they could on their own.
With archers covering them, Tristan and Rex soared low and took up one end of the heavy beam. Rex’s claws dug deep, slowly dragging the wood across the river, while a handful of soldiers carried the back end. Tristan watched carefully, Rex glowing as brightly as he dared while holding ready kindling, and thanks to the illumination, Tristan was able to signal the exact moment when they should release. The plank landed with a dull, reverberating thump onto the still-standing supports.
One down, Tristan thought, as Rex shook out his wings and unclenched his claws.
They repeated the action with a second beam, and this time some soldiers from the empire side of the river rushed forward, allowing Rex to lower the log more slowly and giving them the chance to carefully line them up. It was still a bit too narrow for crossing, but Tristan thought a third might allow soldiers to walk single file.
They were halfway there with the third plank when a cacophony of shrieks drew Tristan’s attention upward.
It wasn’t a lonely strix or two but a pack of them, bearing down on him fast. He cursed.
Rex, let go! Tristan said frantically, and his bondmate released the heavy log with a splash, causing soldiers on either side to cry out and jump backward. Tristan whipped up his bow, but before he could nock an arrow, the strixes cried out and tumbled from the sky, peppered with crossbow bolts.
They landed along the banks of the Aurys, and the soldiers from both sides of the river pounced on them before they could take flight once more. The rest fell into the water and were swept away.
Glancing around, Tristan saw Daniel and the other crossbowmen that had saved him.
He blew out a breath and waved his thanks. “Cover me?” he asked, and Daniel nodded.
Rex dove down to reclaim the fallen log. It was difficult to get the submerged end out of the river—they were both soaked by the end, and Rex was actually steaming—but finally they managed to soar up again and drag the log into place.
The soldiers on both sides of the river cheered, but their victory was short-lived. The shouting soon changed, becoming angry and confused. Tristan turned in the saddle to see the soldiers to the north parting to allow a horse-mounted rider to pass through—though the rider didn’t give them much of a choice. Anyone in the way was knocked aside, and soon General Rast’s grim face became visible. Behind him, the battle raged, the strixes running amok, not just on the northern front but attacking everywhere, tearing the ranks apart.
“What are you doing?” the general bellowed, bringing the frothing horse up short. His narrow-eyed gaze roved the dismantled catapults, the muddy footprints and evidence of struggle all along the riverbank, and then at last, the damaged bridge with its temporary crossbeams in place.
The soldiers on the southern shore were in the middle of organizing themselves for a march, but their progress had halted. They couldn’t hear what was happening on the northern banks, but they saw everyone’s attention shifting to the general.
“What does it look like?” Tristan asked as Rex landed close enough to be able to talk but far enough to avoid appearing like a threat. “Rebuilding the bridge. We need to get reinforcements into Pyra as soon as possible.”
With that, he turned his back on the man and waved across the shore. Soldiers rushed forward, marching single file over the narrow planks. Tristan would rather be in the air next to them, should the strixes return or one of the beams fail, but the general wasn’t finished.
“We most certainly do not!” the general raged. “Pyra is no longer a part of the empire, and therefore we owe it no defense. I have ordered a retreat.”
And with that he urged his horse forward, onto the makeshift bridge he’d just chastised his army for rebuilding. Several of his soldiers were already halfway across, and with a shouted “look out,” they leapt for the shore or scrabbled to hang on to whatever handholds they could find as their general barreled through.
Tristan cursed as he and Rex followed the general to the southern shore. “Help them,” he said to Rex, indicating the soldiers about to plunge into the icy river, before dismounting and facing off with the general.
Rast had dismounted as well, insisting he needed a fresh horse for the rest of the way to the capital—but Tristan waylaid him.
“This won’t stop in Pyra.” He pointed to the sky, to the strixes that continued to move steadily south. It was hard to tell if the Unnamed were still fighting, but they had done their job in delaying the reinforcements and condemning many of the northern forces to death—unless Tristan could make the general see. “Now is the time to stand and fight.”
He shouted those last words, making sure that the soldiers ranged around them—and maybe even some on the far shore—could hear.
“I will determine when and where this army fights,” the general snapped. “Now fall back! Make for the capital! Form ranks and fall back!”
The commanders who had been so efficiently following Tristan’s lead stared at one another. Retreat was a common tactic, especially if the intention was to move to more defensible ground, but there was no better place to engage the strixes than right here. Aura Nova’s walls wouldn’t keep them out, and the city wouldn’t be prepared for an attack—all their soldiers and war machines were here, ready and waiting to be used. Besides, outside the capital, there were no innocent civilians to get caught in the crossfire—no families and livelihoods at stake.
General Rast’s eyes bulged slightly, his ja
w working.
“Sir,” said Daniel, moving to the front of the group to address the general. “I agree with Tristan that we are ideally placed and ready to engage now. If we retreat, they’ll come at our backs, and—”
“You agree with the Phoenix Rider,” the general cut in flatly.
There was a shriek somewhere above: Another strix had broken through the chaos and was making straight for them. Tristan took a halting step forward, but Rex insisted he could handle it. After dropping one of the soldiers he’d rescued onto the far bank, he burst into flame and collided into the strix in midair.
“Look at this!” Rast snarled, flinging a hand at the two legendary birds fighting in the sky. “He’s one of them. They are our enemies! We came here to eradicate them, not chitchat about battle strategy.”
But even as he said it, Rex flung the strix aside and the soldiers below shot the shadowbird full of arrows. It crashed to the ground, crushing several of the soldiers beneath as it scrambled and lashed out, but then they swarmed the creature and finished it off.
Together.
The general turned his back on the scene. He seemed to be considering what to do next, but any feeling of hope Tristan had died when Rast’s cool gaze fell on him.
“As a matter of fact, I think a Phoenix Rider hostage would be a valuable asset. Take him prisoner.”
Tristan gaped, his hand dropping to the hilt of his dagger. This wasn’t—this couldn’t be happening. He looked across the river, where Rex continued to fight with the soldiers, swooping and diving and forcing the strixes to fall back. Then he looked at the soldiers all around him. Didn’t they see? He and Rex were fighting for them, for everyone. Would they really turn their backs on him?
Despite the tension that had descended over the group, no one moved.
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