But at times like this, when he forgot about his ambitions and his constant need for his father’s approval, Tristan felt closer to his mother, and that was a good feeling.
They climbed the wide steps that led to the archway, which was cut through a jagged spur of mountain rock and chiseled into the shape of the animals sacred to the gods. Beasts slithered and crawled and snarled overtop one another, including Teyke’s cat and Mori’s owl, while Azurec’s spread-winged phoenix crowned the entrance at its apex.
They passed through, and the Eyrie lay before them.
It was carved into the heart of the mountain like a great, stony bowl. It reminded Tristan of an amphitheater, with a flat space far below and tiers rising wider and wider from the bottom up. The levels acted as walkways and roosts for the phoenixes, while at the very bottom of the pit, a stone courtyard was ringed by an arched gallery. Rough, uncut peaks of stone surrounded the bowl like cupped hands, hiding it from view of the mountain below.
Directly in front of them was a jutting spear of stone, like a plinth or a platform, which thrust into the open air of the Eyrie. Though the top was smooth and flat for walking, the rock supports underneath were carved in the shape of another massive phoenix. The path stretched across its back, while its head capped the end of the plinth and its wings spread wide to reconnect with the walls on either side.
Tristan gave Nyk some time to take it all in before pointing out the basic function of the space. “See those doorways along each ledge? Those are where the Master Riders live. When we moved in, they spent months scouring the tunnels, searching for lost eggs.”
“Did they find any?” Nyk asked.
Tristan nodded. “A few. It’s where most of the apprentices got their mounts. One or two had an egg from their families, and three Riders still had their mounts from before the war. The commander, Beryk, and one of the instructors and leader of the second patrol, Fallon. He was only a child during the fighting.”
“Was that where you found Rex?” Nyk asked.
Tristan shook his head. “I inherited my egg from my mother’s side. He’d been passed down for years, waiting for me.”
Tristan had never been more anxious for anything in his life than when he’d incubated his generations-old phoenix egg. What would happen if things went wrong and he wasted this most precious of family heirlooms?
But all the worry had been for nothing. Rex had deemed him a worthy bondmate, and Tristan was proud to ride such a beautiful creature—fire and all.
As they looked on, Rex made himself comfortable on a nearby ledge, his feathers sending up sparks as he shifted into position. All around, other phoenixes settled in for the night, roosting in small clusters.
Only the top two levels of the Eyrie were in use, but Tristan liked to imagine what it might have been like a few hundred years ago, when every cavern was occupied and flaming birds perched on every ledge.
Nyk’s eyes were fixated somewhere below. “There’re more phoenixes down there,” he said, his voice oddly strangled. “There’s an enclosure, or a fence. . . .”
Tristan withdrew his gaze. “It’s the females,” he said heavily. “That’s where the breeding cages are.”
He risked a glance at Nyk and instantly regretted it. Nyk looked shocked, disgusted, and his reaction made Tristan feel dirty—as if it had been his idea.
“They aren’t bonded,” Tristan explained, lowering himself onto the ground next to the archway. He leaned his weary back against the cool stone wall, and Nyk copied him. “So they have to be restrained, or they’ll leave. The Riders are trying to get them to mate.”
Tristan could see that his words upset Nyk, and if he was honest with himself, they upset him, too. After knowing the mind of a creature as intelligent, powerful, and ancient as a phoenix, it was hard to believe putting them in enclosures—cages, essentially—and using them for breeding was at all right.
Nyk crossed his arms. “And has it worked?”
Tristan sighed heavily. “We got one last year—”
“One egg?”
“Yes, one,” Tristan admitted reluctantly. He ran a hand through his hair, the curls stiff with the day’s dirt and sweat. “But whether the bird was already carrying or not, we don’t know. She was wild; they managed to trap her, and she laid the egg soon after. Every other attempt has gone badly.”
“Badly?” Nyk repeated.
“They’ve maimed every single male who got close to them. You know, when they hurt, we hurt,” he added, and Nyk nodded—confirming he knew this already. “I remember a couple months back, Fallon was limping for days because his phoenix was in the breeding cages and had been slashed by one of the females. They’re stronger than the males and usually grow to be larger.”
Nyk seemed pleased by this information.
“The same is true of, well, pleasure,” Tristan said, staring resolutely at his knees. Heat crept up the side of his neck, and he forced a laugh as he continued. “We feel all their emotions, good or bad, and apparently if the phoenixes actually did mate, the bondmates sense it in some way. So that’s weird.”
That startled a horrified laugh out of Nyk, and Tristan grinned, gratified that he’d been able to make him smile and break the awkward tension.
“In the old days Riders worked in pairs,” Tristan said, arching his back to stretch his stiff muscles. Nyk watched him idly, and his attention was unlike anyone else’s—not the intense scrutiny of his father or the vague affection of someone like Beryk or Morra. It made Tristan’s senses sharpen and his shoulders straighten. “For hunting and tracking and fighting. The phoenixes would become a mated pair for life, and so would their Riders. I guess their bonds, they bled into each other, so it was almost like the Riders were bonded in the same way the phoenixes were.”
“Like Nefyra and Callysta,” Nyk murmured, his tone thoughtful.
Tristan smiled, pleased that Nyk knew about the First Riders. There had been hundreds of famous pairs throughout Phoenix Rider history, but Nefyra, the First Rider Queen, and Callysta, her second-in-command, were Tristan’s favorites. Even though they married others for alliances and for children, they remained committed to each other above all else. They refused to leave each other’s sides—in battle, in life, and in death. When Callysta succumbed to an arrow wound, Nefyra followed her soon after, dying of a broken heart.
“So, if the breeding cages don’t work and you don’t have any eggs, why isn’t your father searching Pyra, the abandoned watch towers and outposts?”
“We have,” Tristan said. They hadn’t searched thoroughly. He knew that, but there was never enough time. Any day now the empire would learn about them, and they had to be ready. Nyk opened his mouth, probably to argue his very valid points, but Tristan was tired of defending his father’s methods—especially when he hardly agreed with them himself. “Listen, Nyk, I dislike it as much as you do. But if you ever want to be a Rider, we need more phoenixes. This is the only way we know how.”
Nyk fell silent; clearly talk of the breeding cages was dimming his initial pleasure at seeing the Eyrie for the first time. This disappointed Tristan.
He reached out with his magic. With some prodding, he was able to convince Rex to leave his roost and visit him at the end of the phoenix walkway. When Tristan got up, Nyk followed a second later, a frown on his face.
Standing near the edge of the plinth, Tristan felt the warm rush of air that signaled Rex’s approach. Nyk stopped next to him just as the phoenix burst from the depths of the Eyrie; a gust of wind rippled through Tristan’s hair, and streaks of light momentarily marred his vision.
Arcing above, Rex burst into full flame at the peak of his ascent, then dove downward into the darkness below. Nyk crouched in alarm as Rex hurtled toward them, then he leaned over the edge to watch the bird’s descent. It was part of the solstice dance, the display Rex and the other phoenixes would put on the following evening.
Again Rex flew high into the air, only to turn around and soar in a fiery coil t
oward the earth. As Tristan had hoped, soon other phoenixes joined in, ruffling their feathers in puffs of sparks before igniting. Sometimes Tristan thought phoenixes were natural performers, always game for a bit of theater, a bit of the dramatic—especially if it involved showing off their elegant flight and brilliant flame.
Seeing them like this was surprisingly easy—their fire was a faraway spectacle, not a dangerous threat. He could appreciate the beauty of it in a detached way, as distant and otherworldly as the sun and stars.
While watching one phoenix fly into the sky and then come careening back down was beautiful, watching half a dozen was spectacular. Nyk gripped Tristan’s arm, his mouth hanging open as the firebirds twisted and spiraled, leaving flaming tracks in the air. The moon hung in the sky behind them, fat and bone white, and dull in comparison.
Now that they had begun, Tristan knew the phoenixes would be at it for a while. He nudged Nyk, whose large round eyes reflected the fiery performance, and returned to sitting against the wall near the entrance. Nyk followed, walking backward so he didn’t miss a single second of the show.
Tristan didn’t know if it was guilt over how he’d first treated Nyk or gratitude for the help he had given Tristan since, but for some reason—he didn’t want to think too hard on it—making Nyk smile made Tristan’s own heart lighter. Nyk had a way of bringing out a happier, more positive side of him. Barely an hour ago he’d been ready to deem his long-desired promotion to patrol leader a failure just because it wasn’t happening as quickly as he’d hoped. But Nyk had made him truly appreciate the success for what it was: a step in the right direction. And before that, when Tristan had blurted out his fear of fire, Nyk hadn’t laughed or ridiculed him. He hadn’t even batted an eye, instead listing off famous Riders with issues of their own so he wouldn’t feel alone and then providing Tristan with a life-changing solution.
It wasn’t that their friendship was all fun and laughter—in fact, Nyk was one of the few people, besides his father, who called him on his arrogance and bad temper. But unlike his father, who held Tristan’s every bad decision against him, Nyk never seemed to hold a grudge. After their rocky start, Nyk had been steadfast and loyal, a constant friend in a place where Tristan didn’t really have any. He’d never fit in much with the other apprentices, and he wasn’t yet a Master Rider. He was stuck somewhere between, which was often a hard place to be.
But then he’d look at Nyk, and his endless hope would make Tristan want to hope too, just like Nyk’s faith in Tristan made Tristan want to have faith in himself. He wanted to be the person Nyk seemed to think he could be, and he needed Nyk by his side to remind him of that.
He needed Nyk by his side because he never felt more himself than when they were together.
They continued to watch in silence as the phoenixes painted the night sky. At one point Nyk’s head drooped onto Tristan’s shoulder, and Tristan let his own head fall back against the rough-hewn wall.
Eventually the birds gave up the dance and returned to their roost. The night around them grew darker, until only Rex remained. With a last flash of light, he took his final descent into the shadows.
Tristan bade him good night and thanked him before moving to get to his feet. Nyk slumped against the wall, fast asleep. Tristan prodded him with a foot, then gave him a gentle shake with his hand, but Nyk was dead to the world. Everything about him was bright and vivid, as if Nyk didn’t do anything by half—couldn’t, even if he wanted to. When he ran, no matter how tired, he pushed until his legs buckled beneath him. When he talked about phoenixes and Riders and animal magic, his whole face lit up.
And even when he slept, he did so with reckless abandon—his shock of messy black hair standing on end and his mouth slightly open.
With a smirk, Tristan bent down and lifted him, carrying Nyk in his arms back into the stronghold. It was strange, holding him close like that—having Nyk’s face pressed against his chest. It was a relief to unburden himself when he reached Nyk’s bed in the servants’ barracks, but when Tristan stepped away, he felt strangely bereft as the cold air rushed into the places where Nyk’s warmth had been.
Tristan knew that he should have told Nyk about the eggs. But he’d feared the information would cause Nyk to leave, and the idea made Tristan miserable. There had to be a way. He would go searching himself if he had to. The last time he’d disobeyed his father’s orders, he’d been assigned extra lessons with Nyk—and the time before that, he’d found Nyk wandering the wilderness. Both instances had worked out far better than he could have imagined.
Maybe if he did it again, something even better would befall him.
Maybe Nyk would be made an apprentice and Tristan a patrol leader. And when it came time to choose his second-in-command, Nyk would be top of the list.
Together we could have been unstoppable.
- CHAPTER 26 -
VERONYKA
VERONYKA AWOKE SUDDENLY, DISORIENTED as she stared up at the wooden ceiling. She blinked into the darkness and saw the familiar rows of hammocks that filled the servants’ barracks. Slowly the night before came back to her: the stone-carved Eyrie, the fire-drenched phoenixes . . . and Tristan.
She must’ve fallen asleep, and—Axura above, did Tristan carry her to her bed?
Heat prickled her cheeks, and she couldn’t tell if she was mortified or pleased. It was kind of Tristan to let her sleep, but she’d begun to fear that kindness. She didn’t want to need it. As unrealistic as it felt, she wanted them to be equals. While he’d called them friends, she felt the imbalance between them: He was older, stronger, more experienced, while she was younger, weaker, and new to this place. He was the commander’s son and would rule one day. She was . . . nobody. Not even an apprentice. It was similar to her equally disproportionate relationship with Val, and Veronyka never wanted to feel like she owed someone her life again.
She reached into her pocket for her braided bracelet, fingering the familiar beads.
The Eyrie was at once better—and worse—than she’d been expecting. All the history and beauty was there, and the feeling of magic was powerful, as if embedded in the stones. But then there’d been that sense of wrongness, that fluttering, agitated tremor in the air.
Breeding cages.
Veronyka had never even considered such a thing. When she’d thought about the Riders trying to get more phoenix eggs, she’d always assumed that meant searching, not trying to produce them. Guilt gnawed at her belly, as if she were somehow complicit in their imprisonment. All this time she’d been here, there were females locked away in cages somewhere out of sight. How did people like Morra stand for it?
Val had told her that phoenix mating rituals were highly mysterious, that even the ancient Riders didn’t know much about them. They often bred and laid their eggs in secrecy, which was why caches of eggs could still be found all over the mountain, untouched for centuries, waiting to be hatched. It was only during the last fifty years of the empire that phoenix eggs were deliberately hidden to keep them safe. There was trouble brewing long before the Blood War, the divide between animages and nonmagical people growing more pronounced with each passing year.
The Phoenix Riders had always been a symbol of the empire’s power, the force used to unify the lesser kingdoms and to keep the peace and protect the people ever since. But where their loyalties lay was always somewhat elusive. In the beginning a Phoenix Rider always sat on the throne. First it was Elysia Ashfire, the Peacemaker, and then her daughter, Ellody. Many more followed, both sons and daughters, because when the Pyraeans took control of the valley, they vowed to respect and adopt the customs of all its people. Now the heir to the throne was always the eldest child, whatever their gender, and not the eldest daughter as it was in Pyraean culture, or the eldest son as it was done in most of the lesser kingdoms. The crown thrived, and for decades, man or woman, a Phoenix Rider sat in the empire’s golden seat.
If, as in the case of King Hellund, the heir was not an animage, they were swiftly marri
ed to one in order to keep magic in the royal line and to appease the animage supporters. During King Hellund’s reign—before his marriage to Queen Genya the General, a brutal fighter and Phoenix Rider—there were several recorded instances of the Phoenix Riders refusing to take orders from their king. Their allegiance was with their commander, which was often the position held by the local governor where they served. So, when King Hellund ordered the troops positioned in Ferro to fly across the empire to deal with a band of brigands terrorizing Arboria South, their Phoenix Rider commander simply refused. King Hellund’s marriage to Genya set things to rights, but not all the governors and politicians of the empire could forget that the Phoenix Riders’ loyalty wasn’t so much to the crown as it was to their own kind.
By the time Avalkyra and Pheronia were born, the foundation for the war between them was already firmly in place. Those without magical blood saw themselves in Pheronia, who had the support of the nonmagical councilors, merchants, and governors. Of course the Phoenix Riders sided with Avalkyra, who was one of them—and whose mother had been a renowned warrior in her own right—but that didn’t buy her political support. And the Phoenix Riders’ numbers were small compared to the empire’s growing army of conscripted foot soldiers. Eggs became highly valuable, things to hoard and hide, not parade out in the open, and it had been that way ever since.
A shudder ran down Veronyka’s spine as she thought of those majestic birds, trapped against their will and forced to breed. It was like caging and breeding people. Phoenixes were no ordinary animals; they were highly intelligent even without a bond and had powerful magic all their own. But what were her chances of ever getting a phoenix again without the cages? And furthermore, what were the Riders’ chances of expanding without more eggs?
Crown of Feathers Page 27
