But no matter how she tried to calm herself, Veronyka’s eyes went wild, darting from Tristan’s bare chest to the door, back to Tristan, and around the entire bathhouse. Where was she supposed to look? How was she supposed to get dressed with him here? There was no escape. There was nowhere to hide. When his fingers reached the strings on his pants, Veronyka felt light-headed and stared resolutely at her feet, though she barely saw them. Her gaze wandered up again, as if dragged there by some uncontrollable force.
He wasn’t standing naked before her, but had already immersed himself waist-deep in the pool. He’d walked in calmly, making barely a sound, rather than splashing in as she had. It was a relief to have some kind of barrier between them, even though the steaming water didn’t entirely obscure the dark trace of hair that trailed down his muscled stomach and into the water below.
He submerged his head, and when he came back up, water streamed down his body. He smoothed his hair back and blinked at her. “You should get some sleep, Nyk.”
Then he turned away, sinking onto the bench with his back facing her. He reclined and closed his eyes.
Veronyka sagged against the wall, her muscles trembling. She dressed at top speed, stumbling into her pants and fumbling far too long with the laces. She slipped out the door and ran to the barracks, determined never to have another bath again.
Day 5, Third Moon, 169 AE
Xe Onia,
I know you are angry with me, but we can’t fall apart now. This is what they want. Don’t you see that?
I have sent this with Nefyra, my best messenger pigeon. Your response will get to me in two days.
Please respond.
—Avalkyra
I was banished, chased from the very empire my foremothers had built. Was I to give up then and fade away into obscurity? Was I to fall onto my knees and beg?
- CHAPTER 22 -
VERONYKA
TRISTAN’S PROMISED HELP WITH training began early the next morning and continued doggedly over the following days.
Rather than taking her to the target range or teaching her combat moves with knife or spear, Tristan took her running. Veronyka was severely disappointed, but he insisted that fitness and stamina were more important.
And so every morning before dawn, they met in the courtyard. He would lead her over the village walls and up tightly winding stairs to the higher fortifications that enclosed the stronghold. He took her along narrow tracks that ran all over the mountaintop, through bushes and long grasses, and down the steep inclines of the cliffs that surrounded the plateau. Veronyka knew he slowed his pace for her, but it was still the most exhausting thing she’d ever done.
Tristan was eternally patient, nudging her if her eyes began to droop while they stretched and taking frequent breaks to “catch his breath” that were obviously just for her.
Nearly a week into their new routine, Veronyka’s sluggish start had them returning a bit late for their regular duties. As they jogged through the gate into the stronghold, the sun had already risen, limning the mountain in gold, and the other apprentices were gathering in the training yard, preparing for their own early morning lesson.
They saw Tristan and waved him over, and Veronyka followed. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, and her legs were unsteady beneath her. Tristan, on the other hand, had a fine sheen of sweat on his face but appeared otherwise relaxed and at his leisure. Veronyka, gasping with her hands on her knees, hated him for it.
“Who’s your shadow, Tristan?” asked Anders, separating from the rest of the apprentices. He had the cool, light-brown skin of Arboria North, and his dark hair curled around his rather large ears. His parents were part of an acting troupe, and Anders had certainly inherited their love of theater and entertainment, if not their talent; his less-than-stellar singing voice could often be heard from the apprentice barracks, the dining hall, or from high above as he and his phoenix soared by. Arborians were famous for their arts, and beyond music and theater, they made the best furniture and woodcarvings in the empire, as well as fine leatherwork. Anders had a pair of thick leather cuffs etched with songs, poetry, and family motifs, though he wore them only at dinner. The commander forbade any embellishments that didn’t follow his strict apprentice uniform, which included matching practice tunics and armor on patrols, and hair that was kept neat and short and faces that were clean-shaven. Even in their prime, the Phoenix Riders employed a similar dress code for their apprentices, and only the Master Riders had earned the right to wear braids and whatever cultural or personal ornamentation they pleased.
“Oh, this is Nyk—he works in the stables,” Tristan said.
“Since when do stablehands train with apprentices?” asked Latham. He looked a good deal like his brother, Loran, with the same fair skin, spun-gold hair, and dark-blue eyes common in the south where they were from.
“Since the commander said so,” said Elliot helpfully, reminding everyone of Tristan’s punishment, to which they’d all been witness.
“Ah, yes!” Anders said with his usual broad smile, shooting Tristan a mischievous look. “The commander’s most recent disciplinary decree. Tell me, Nyk, have you gotten this poor apprentice up to scratch yet?”
Tristan just shook his head, a faint smile on his face as he stared at the ground. Veronyka wondered why he would take their joking without retaliating—he certainly had no problem arguing with her—when she realized his awkward place here. It was his father they were talking about, and his position of power over them put Tristan in a tough spot. He couldn’t be a regular apprentice, because they would always see him as the commander’s son, and yet he wasn’t technically in a position of authority. No wonder he was so eager to be promoted, to have the lines more clearly drawn.
“He was already up to scratch without my help,” Veronyka said stoutly, and Tristan flashed her a surprised, grateful look.
“Well, if they want to send servants over to help the apprentices, I’d be more than happy to let one of the washer girls whip me into shape,” Latham said, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “Or maybe one of Morra’s kitchen maids . . .”
“Poor Latham, always pining for company. Almost as bad as Elliot here, going on and on about the girls back home,” said Anders, slinging an arm around him.
“I’m not pining,” Elliot protested, blushing as he shrugged Anders’s arm off his shoulders. “And I don’t go on and on—it’s my sister I talk about, not—”
“Leave him alone,” said Ronyn, sounding bored. He was one of the older apprentices and had clearly had his fill of Anders’s and Latham’s antics.
“Nyk here agrees, don’t you?” Anders asked, tossing his arm around Veronyka instead. “You’d like to see more girls about, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” Veronyka said. The others laughed in delight, but she didn’t mean it the way they meant it—she just wanted to see female Riders. She cast an exasperated glance at Tristan, but to her surprise, he avoided her gaze. His face seemed oddly flushed; was he embarrassed by her being there? Veronyka didn’t mind the teasing—it was far less malicious than Val’s constant jibes and sarcastic remarks—but it seemed that Tristan did. She felt the need to change the subject.
“What I meant,” Veronyka said, copying Elliot and throwing Anders’s arm off her, “is that there should be girl apprentices. For training.”
“Well, there’s something you and Elliot can agree on,” Anders said, still smirking. “So, is that why you’re here?”
Veronyka’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
Anders raised an eyebrow. “To train?”
“Oh—yes. Well, sort of. I . . .”
“I’m helping him get in shape for the next recruitment,” Tristan said.
“What’s the point?” said Ronyn.
“What do you mean?” Veronyka asked. She couldn’t tell if his tone was negative or just disinterested like before.
His gaze flicked to Tristan and the others. “There, well—”
“We don’t ha
ve any eggs,” Anders cut in, the jovial attitude missing from his voice for the first time. “Haven’t found any in months. You’d have a better shot laying one yourself than finding one here.”
The tone of the group changed, the laughing and joking replaced by a somewhat strained silence. Veronyka was staring at Tristan, but he wouldn’t look at her. He’d known this all along. Why hadn’t he told her? Why had he pretended she had a chance—offering extra training and even promising to sponsor her—when he’d known there was no way it would actually happen? Maybe that was why he’d done it. . . . It was a debt he’d never have to repay.
When Beryk walked into the fenced area and called them to attention, Veronyka took the opportunity to slip away, past Tristan and out of the training yard.
It was still an hour until Veronyka would be expected to begin her duties for the day, but she went to the stables anyway. It was dark and quiet inside, and the presence of the animals soothed her. Veronyka’s magic had grown strong in her time here, the way it had when she’d been with Xephyra. While being around phoenixes strengthened her powers, bonding with one had helped even more.
Before Xephyra, and before Veronyka’s arrival at the Eyrie, she would have to see an animal in order to connect with them and communicate. Now she was able to walk through the dusty room with her eyes closed and sense what horse was behind each door, which cats were slinking in the shadows, and if there were any doves or starlings perched up in the rafters. Birds and mammals were always easiest for her magic to find, reptiles and water creatures the most difficult. Apparently it had to do with the similarity in mind and behavior. The larger the differences between them—like habitat and diet—the more difficult to connect to.
Familiarity helped, too, so Veronyka was able to reach out to the animals inside the stable with the barest thought.
Finding Wind’s stall in her mind, she opened her eyes and slipped inside. Taking a seat on the ground next to him, she patted him gently on the nose as he drifted back to sleep, swaying slightly to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
Helplessness was weighing her down, the sensation familiar after years of Val controlling her life. Now that Veronyka was free from that, she hated the idea of sliding backward into that same futility. After her time training with Tristan, she’d started to feel like she was on the right track, building toward her future, but now? It felt like she was right back where she’d started.
“Nyk?” came a hesitant voice from beyond the door.
Veronyka froze. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be found, but her hiding place wasn’t exactly foolproof. A minute later the door swung open, and Tristan stood there.
“How did you find me?” she asked ruefully.
“I saw you run toward the stables, and then I asked Wind,” he said, glancing at Veronyka’s stall mate, the corner of his mouth quirking. He patted Wind’s hindquarters and sidled into the room, sinking down onto the ground next to her. He leaned against the wall and drew up his knees, resting his elbows on them.
Veronyka scowled at the horse, who blew a dignified puff of air out through his nostrils.
“Don’t you have training right now?” she pressed.
Tristan shrugged. They sat in silence for a moment, then . . .
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she blurted. “Why pretend like you could help me—all that stuff about extra training and sponsorship—when you knew it was never going to happen? Why lie? Did you feel sorry for me or something?”
Tristan dropped his knee and turned to face her. “No, it’s not—it wasn’t like that. And I didn’t lie. I just didn’t bother mentioning it because it’s not never. It’s just not right now.”
“If you don’t have any eggs—”
“We’ll get some,” Tristan said firmly.
Veronyka put her head in her hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“You’re helping me,” Tristan said, forcing a smile. “You saw the mess I made during that first obstacle course. If you weren’t there, things might have gone really bad for me . . . and Wind,” he added, reaching up to pat the horse’s wide, barrel chest.
Veronyka tried to smile too, but she just couldn’t muster it.
“We need smart, talented people like you here,” he continued. He was staring resolutely at the ground between them when he added, “I need you here.”
Veronyka swallowed with difficulty, her throat tightening. The surge of happiness she felt at his words was quickly replaced by heavy guilt. He’d trusted her with his darkest secret, and yet she hadn’t reciprocated. But how could she? Tristan hated liars—he’d said there was nothing worse. Sure, he might have skirted the truth about the eggs, but being Nyk every day, Veronyka was living a lie—it colored everything she did, every interaction she had. Veronyka didn’t feel like a boy on the inside—she wasn’t like some of the other children she’d known growing up who might be born as boys or girls but didn’t feel like they fit that category, and so they dressed in a way that felt right to them. That was their truth, no matter what the world saw. But Veronyka wasn’t Nyk; she was Veronyka. Nyk was a lie.
In some ways it would have been easier to tell Tristan the truth before he’d revealed something so personal about himself. Now that they were closer, her lies felt like a bigger betrayal—and the stakes for revealing them felt that much higher. She didn’t want to lose what they had.
There was a look he gave her sometimes, a secret smile that made his eyes shine and his face flush with color. . . . Veronyka feared he would never look at her like that again, that even if he could accept her lies and forgive her for them, whatever it was that lay between them, as fragile as spun sugar, would shatter.
“I . . . I just don’t know if it’s enough. I need to be a Rider. Without that . . . ,” she began, then faltered. How could she explain all that she’d lost? That her heart felt broken, empty, wrong, and that she feared the only thing that would make her whole again was another phoenix to fill the void?
“Something’s missing?” Tristan offered. Veronyka stared at him, surprised at his apparent understanding. “I think that’s how I feel about being a patrol leader. Like, if I can just get there, if I can make it happen, everything will fall into place. But it’s a dangerous game to play . . . putting the key to your happiness in someone else’s hands. Even when I was a kid, all I wanted was to have a phoenix—I thought that once I did, I’d be invincible.” He grinned, straightening his legs and leaning his head back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “But nothing is guaranteed in life. Rex could die, or my father could decide I’ll never make a proper patrol leader—and then what? I can’t be broken forever. I have to make my own happiness.”
His words struck a chord deep inside Veronyka. She’d been looking outside herself for answers, for a way to bandage the wound she had inside. But maybe she had to heal herself before she could hope to find a phoenix that would want to bond with her. She didn’t know if she’d ever fully recover from the loss of Xephyra, but she could start by trying to feel whole again, by trying to find happiness instead of constantly striving for things beyond her control.
And what had made her happiest since she’d lost Xephyra? Training with Tristan, being a part of things here—even as a lowly stablehand.
Veronyka stared at Tristan’s profile, at his sharp jaw and strong shoulders. She had the sudden urge to touch him, to ground herself in this place, with him. She wanted to let everything else fall away and just be here, in this moment.
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 y
ou, 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.”
Crown of Feathers Page 24
