“I thought about leaving when they put Xephyra in that cage. I was going to tell you before that, but I was afraid I’d be punished or sent away. Then after . . . I guess I thought the commander might value Xephyra as a broodmare over me as a Rider.”
Tristan nodded, his expression pained, and she knew it hurt him that he couldn’t dismiss her concerns about his father.
“And,” Veronyka continued, voicing the most personal reason of all for withholding the truth, “it was hard to face the possibility that you might hate me for lying to you, might lose whatever respect you had for me. . . .”
“I could never hate you, Nyk—Veronyka,” he corrected hastily.
“You can call me whatever you want,” she said softly. Something about it was intimate, suggestive, and she wasn’t sure if she’d meant it that way or not.
His eyes widened before he looked away, red splotches creeping up his neck and the edge of his jaw. He bit the inside of his cheek, and Veronyka could swear he was fighting to keep a pleased smile off his face.
“It doesn’t change anything for me, you know,” he said, still not looking at her. “Boy, girl—whatever. You’re you, and that’s all I care about.”
Veronyka thought her heart might burst.
“What was it your sister called you—xe Nyka?”
The bubble of pleasure that had swelled up inside her quickly deflated. “Yes,” she said uneasily. She’d told Tristan he could call her anything, but she wasn’t sure she wanted him to call her that.
“Something about her . . . She gives me the creeps,” he said, laughing awkwardly and rubbing the back of his neck.
It’s her shadow magic, Veronyka thought miserably. The very same magic I have, the magic that has somehow bound us together. She would have to tell him about that, too, and soon, but not yet. She needed to learn more about it, for one, and for another . . . their relationship was on fragile ground right now. Veronyka wanted to wait for more stable footing.
“Is she gone?” he asked, trying to keep the hopeful note from his voice—and failing.
The question was an interesting one—yes, Val, her older sister, the one she’d grown up with, her last “family,” was gone. Forever, in fact. Now she had a dead rebel queen to contend with. “Yes, I think so.”
“Good,” he said firmly. He glanced at her and gave an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. Your sister . . . you’ll have to explain her to me sometime.”
Veronyka snorted, though she wasn’t amused. Explain her sister? That prospect would have been hard enough a few days ago, but now? Veronyka didn’t even know if she and Val—or was it Avalkyra?—were actually related. “I’ll try,” she said. “I promise.”
Tristan gave her a wry grin, and relief flooded her body. A group of servants walked past the window, their voices cutting through the quiet moment. Tristan straightened, seeming to remember that he’d woken her up for a reason.
“The commander would like to see you,” he said, somewhat formally.
Her head whipped in his direction. “Me? Why?”
Tristan avoided her eyes. “You’ll see.”
“Tristan tells me it was your idea to release the phoenixes.”
They were back in the commander’s office, standing in front of his long carved table as he sat behind it. Veronyka shot an accusatory look in Tristan’s direction, and though his head was bowed, she could’ve sworn she saw a smile twisting his lips.
“Y-yes, Commander.”
“And was it also your suggestion to use the other animals, the horses and pigeons and the rest?”
Veronyka nodded, her heart dropping into the pit of her stomach.
The commander showed his teeth—a smile? “Then I have you to thank, not Tristan, for the success of our defenses. From what I’ve gathered from various reports, if it weren’t for their joint efforts, the stronghold would have been overrun—and if it weren’t for the female phoenixes in particular, the village gate would have fallen much sooner.”
“Oh, um, you’re welcome,” she said, glancing at Tristan once more, who now smiled openly at her, his cheeks dimpled.
“You know,” the commander said, his tone thoughtful, “in the glory days of the empire, it was the female phoenixes, not the males, who were renowned for their fighting prowess. Riders prayed for daughters over sons so they might have a legendary warrior in the family.”
Veronyka glared at him. She was such a daughter, denied in favor of sons. But of course, Commander Cassian didn’t know that.
She could take it no longer.
“Sir, I-I have something I need to tell you.”
Tristan widened his eyes at her and shook his head in warning. She ignored him.
“Yes?” the commander said, looking between them with a frown on his face.
“The new female, the one who helped us secure the village gate? She’s mine, sir—my bondmate.”
“Your bondmate . . . ,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his desk.
Veronyka felt dizzy. She was going to tell him. She was going to willingly reveal her lies and betrayal to the man whose own son was afraid of him.
“You see, I’m female too. My name’s not Nyk. It’s Veronyka.”
The commander stared at her, his pale-brown eyes flat and unreadable as he picked through her words. Veronyka’s stomach roiled so badly, she thought she might be sick.
“How can you be bonded with that phoenix when she’s been here such a short time and was too old to begin with?” He didn’t seem upset, simply curious—or maybe he was distracted from his anger by the conundrum of their bond.
“We were bonded before I arrived, Commander,” she said faintly. “She—Xephyra, my bondmate—was killed, so I came here, hoping for another way to become a Rider. When I learned that you weren’t taking female apprentices, I thought pretending to be a boy was my only chance. I hoped that I could bond with a male, or with a new female, when the time came and be allowed to stay. But then she came back. . . . She was resurrected, and . . .”
Veronyka was rambling now, the words pouring out in a torrent as the commander surveyed her with mild, detached interest. Tristan, who had been listening intently—even he didn’t know the full story—was tense beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she finished in a whisper.
The commander got to his feet, moving somewhat gingerly with unseen injuries, and came around to lean against the front of his table. He eyed Veronyka thoughtfully, scratching his chin with a heavily bandaged hand. From what she’d overheard after the battle, the empire had devoted another two hundred soldiers to the diversions. The patrols had been drawn into the villages, only to be ambushed by soldiers armed with metal nets, and the messenger pigeons sent by Tristan had been intercepted by animage bondservants in the empire’s employ. By the time the Riders realized they’d been fooled, hours had passed, and the stronghold was on the brink of collapse.
He looked at Tristan, as if asking—or confirming—that his son already knew what Veronyka had just revealed. Tristan nodded curtly.
“We can’t keep her bondmate imprisoned,” he said after his father continued to remain silent. “It’s not right. We should let her train to be a Rider. I’ll sponsor her.”