Heart of Flames Page 4

  Sev pushed a slow breath out through his lips. No matter the role he played or the things he might be forced to do, he would remember who he truly was and what he was fighting for.

  After another painful treatment session that afternoon, Sev had been ordered by Hestia to remain in bed. He felt foolish and uncomfortable as Lord Rolan strode in, wondering if the man would think him lazy if he didn’t get up and salute. But as Sev moved to stand, Rolan quickly waved him off.

  “The healer has informed me of your condition,” he said, pausing at the foot of Sev’s bed. The servant who’d announced him rushed forward to draw a chair from the adjoining sitting room and place it next to Sev’s bedside. “Some wine, Bertram,” Rolan added, taking a seat. The servant bowed and backed out of the room.

  Lord Rolan was probably in his forties, fair haired and light skinned, though his cheeks and forearms were a ruddy golden color, which told Sev this councilman spent a lot of time in the sun. He had crow’s-feet around his green eyes, and despite the fact that he smiled, his gaze was hard and cold as he settled into the chair next to Sev.

  His clothes were dusty and travel worn, but clearly expensive, and Sev got the impression he’d leapt from his horse and come directly to this room. That was a shocking amount of courtesy from a governor of the empire to a lowly foot soldier.

  Before Rolan could speak, the servant, Bertram, returned with a decanter of wine and two cups, leaving them on the side table before bowing out again. Rolan poured two cups, then handed one to Sev.

  “Nothing like a long day’s ride to drum up a thirst,” Rolan said, downing several gulps. Before Sev could take more than a sip—it was the best wine he’d ever tasted—Rolan had finished his cup and put it back onto the tray. “It’s Sevro, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone businesslike.

  “Yes, Lord Rolan, sir.”

  “I want to thank you, Sevro, for your service and for sustaining such a wound while in my employ. The province of Ferro—and the entire Golden Empire—is in your debt.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome, my lord. I was only doing my duty.”

  Rolan nodded, but he looked pensive. “I’m afraid that duty is not yet done. We did not accomplish what we set out to do in Pyra, and now we must consider our next move. I have called a Grand Council meeting to address the Phoenix Rider threat, and in the meantime I will shore up our defenses along the border and prepare for a counterstrike.”

  Sev blinked. Were the Riders planning a counterstrike? He felt suddenly, laughably underinformed. He knew that was the point—he was a spy, after all, and if he were found out and questioned, the less he knew, the less he could give away. But if the Riders were planning on attacking anyway… Sev had to wonder if his goal here—finding proof of Rolan’s attack—was still relevant.

  “A Grand Council meeting, sir?” Sev asked, adopting his slow, simpleton voice.

  “Oh, it’s just a meeting of the entire council—some fifty members, when last I checked—in which a member may present an issue to be discussed so that a course of action might be determined.”

  Sev’s mind raced. If Commander Cassian was hoping to bring proof of Rolan’s attack to the council as a means of undermining the governor, it seemed Lord Rolan was one step ahead. Surely Rolan wouldn’t willingly face the council if he knew he was subject to punishment for attacking Pyra without their consent? Something was off here.

  “And you called it?” Sev pressed, brow scrunched up, as if trying to understand an extremely complex concept. “To ask for help, sir? For your next move?”

  Sev knew he was being too curious, speaking out of turn and asking for information that he, as a lowly foot soldier, had absolutely no right to. But Lord Rolan was refilling his cup and seemed distracted enough that he answered without much thought.

  “I’ll need their help if I’m to wage war. If I cannot eliminate the Phoenix Rider threat on my own, I will entreat my fellow governors to put soldiers and resources toward the cause. Of course, I must convince them there is, in fact, a threat—but that is another matter entirely.”

  How could Lord Rolan convince the council that the Phoenix Riders were a threat if they weren’t?

  Sev’s heart sped up to match the pace of his thoughts. He was missing something, some important piece of Rolan’s plans. But knowing about the Grand Council was at least something he could report back to Commander Cassian.

  “Now, for the issue at hand,” Rolan said, snapping Sev out of his thoughts. Something in the man’s tone made a trickle of foreboding slip down Sev’s spine.

  “Of the surviving soldiers, you are only the second from Captain Belden’s regiment.”

  The second… Only two soldiers had survived from more than two hundred who’d first set out? The shock of it made the blood drain from Sev’s face. It shouldn’t have surprised him—Trix had intended to poison them all—but it was strange to speak of it here, in this cozy room, miles away from the blood and carnage.

  “Who else?” Sev asked, his voice hoarse.

  “Officer Yara,” Rolan said, head tilted as he studied Sev. “She was unharmed, and I have taken her statement. While the majority of my soldiers died in the fighting, many were sickened—and some killed—by the antics beforehand.” The botched poisoning. “But as she was attending Captain Belden for much of the night in question, her information is limited. And I need to pass down judgment.”

  “Judgment, sir?” Sev asked faintly.

  “Only two soldiers lived, but there were some bondservant survivors as well. Officer Yara escorted them back to the province with the help of soldiers from the other regiments as they fled after the fighting.”

  Sev’s stomach clenched so painfully he lurched forward. Bondservant survivors?

  “And so I will need your help identifying them—separating the loyal servants from the traitors. I’m afraid my store of animages has been drastically depleted. I’d hate to waste good help.”

  Waste. That meant death. Sev’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he realized what Rolan was asking. He might have to point the finger at his fellow conspirators or lie and risk his own position in Rolan’s good graces.

  “Can I count on you, Sevro?” Rolan asked softly.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  What if he recognized some of them? What if they recognized him and knew of his role in the poisoning? Would they point the finger at Sev to save themselves?

  And, most pressing of all—what if Kade was among them?

  * * *

  As soon as Rolan left, Sev climbed from his bed and opened the window in his sitting area. The sky was purple outside, still clinging to the last vestiges of the day’s saturated sunlight, though most of the view was obscured by a large, leafy tree.

  Sev paced for several minutes, until a gray pigeon fluttered onto the ledge. She was plain and unremarkable-looking—and that was the point. With a smile, Sev used a bit of magic to greet her and unearthed a piece of bread he’d hidden from his dinner. He broke it into pieces and set them on the windowsill. As the bird pecked and cooed, Sev flipped up the edge of the plush green-and-gold rug in the center of the room. It was beautiful and expensive, stitched with the horse-and-scythe pattern that was popular among the Stellan-made textiles.

  There, hidden under the carpet, was a loose tile. Sev pried it up, revealing a leather-wrapped parcel. Inside there was paper and ink. As the wind rustled the leaves outside his window, filling his room with warm summer air and the bright citrus tang of Rolan’s lemon trees, he began his letter to Commander Cassian.

  The foundation of the Phoenix Rider order is the First Riders, legendary figures who fought alongside Nefyra Ashfire, the First Rider Queen, against Nox’s army of strixes. Until this day, Phoenix Riders claim descent from those mighty warriors, though proof of such a bloodline would be nearly impossible to verify, as the First Riders existed a thousand years ago.

  What do survive are the myths and legends of their heroic deeds, as well as their personal emblems or sigils. They were o
ften painted onto flags or stamped into leather, passed down on rare artifacts generation after generation.

  Despite their noble history, the ancient Rider lines slowly died out. By the time of the Blood War, the only remaining descendants of the First Riders included members of the Ashfire, Flamesong, and Strongwing families. After the Blood War, which saw the death of both Pheronia and Avalkyra Ashfire—as well as the death of the Pyraean governor Adara Strongwing—only the Flamesongs remain.

  THE FIRST RIDERS and THEIR MOUNTS

  Nefyra

  Rider of Ignix

  Callysta

  Rider of Cirix

  Siytara

  Rider of Ajax

  Adalyn

  Rider of Axalea

  Halyn

  Rider of Meraxis

  Talliya

  Rider of Ximena

  Roza

  Rider of Roxana

  Myra

  Rider of Lexara

  Oriyana

  Rider of Xhea

  Kiyana

  Rider of Xelda

  Devyn

  Rider of Xariah

  Natalya

  Rider of Elexa

  Inara

  Rider of Ixiya

  Eelya

  Rider of Niaxi

  —A History of the First Riders, the Morian Archives, 147 AE, updated 171 AE

  She was not measured on her own merit or skills.

  She was forever standing behind her sister, and

  the brightest lights turn all else to darkness.

  - CHAPTER 4 - VERONYKA

  AFTER YET ANOTHER SLEEPLESS night, Veronyka made her exhausted way to her Pyraean language lessons held in the commander’s study and meeting room.

  Though Veronyka generally loved learning, she was growing more and more impatient in her classes, grouped together as she was with the youngsters while the other Riders were out flying patrols. They no longer had to hide their existence…. All of Pyra, and certainly many beyond, knew of their presence here thanks to the battle at the Eyrie. The very battle she’d fought in, the same as Tristan and the others, and yet she was forced to remain behind with apprentices who couldn’t even ride. She itched to be out there with Xephyra, but how could she hope to be elevated to Master Rider when Tristan kept embarrassing her inside the ring?

  If she had to remain out of the field, she should at least be spending her time honing her combat skills rather than spending her days going over things she already knew.

  Veronyka was the oldest of the new recruits, and she already had a firm grasp on ancient Pyraean. The result was that she often found herself as an assistant to their instructor—a retired tutor from Arboria and a non-Rider. While Petyr—who had disliked Veronyka since she was Nyk and they’d worked together in the stables—would rather eat soaptree leaves than ask for her help, the others, particularly the girls, were eager to have her input.

  They were the one bright spot in her schedule. Of the ten new recruits, three were girls, and Veronyka did what she could to support them. She made sure the girls knew they could come to her about anything, and Xephyra was extra gentle with them whenever they approached her with awe, thrilled at the idea that their own phoenixes would grow so big.

  When Veronyka wasn’t helping out, their tutor let her spend their lessons reading by herself in the library, a separate room where the commander kept the majority of his books, scrolls, and other valuable items from his time as the governor of Ferro.

  Veronyka loved the library: the silence, the solitude, and the precious volumes of Phoenix Rider lore that she’d never encountered before. Poems and biographies, atlases and art history books—all of it was there, and she delved hungrily into the dusty pages. It was strange to realize that this was likely a fraction of the books the commander and Tristan had had in their home library in Ferro, but it was a wealth of knowledge for Veronyka.

  If she had loved Phoenix Rider history before, it was nothing like the fervor she felt now. Rather than reading aimlessly, chasing tales of thrilling battles or scandalous romance, Veronyka looked for anything and everything she could find about Avalkyra Ashfire.

  Admittedly, there wasn’t much. The commander had been exiled soon after the end of the Blood War, and all mention of Phoenix Riders was forbidden in the aftermath of Avalkyra’s rebellion. No doubt the Morian Archives had made record of the events of the war, but that information wasn’t allowed to be shared or made public. Besides a few propaganda pamphlets distributed by both sides, the commander had little about the Blood War. What he did have were books about Avalkyra’s childhood, particularly tomes dealing with the question of succession between Avalkyra and Pheronia, as well as several volumes dedicated to the Ashfire line, including histories, genealogies, and even books of myths and legends.

  Veronyka tore through them hungrily, the name “Avalkyra” jumping out at her every time she found it on a page. Unfortunately, the books didn’t tell her much she didn’t already know—the sisters were close until the death of Pheronia’s mother, the Queen Regent Lania of Stel. Her death was an unsolved mystery, but most people, Pheronia included, believed Avalkyra was to blame. Avalkyra fled justice and set up in Pyra, and that was the beginning of the end for her and her Phoenix Riders.

  Veronyka was particularly interested in the genealogy books with their complicated family trees and descriptions of the First Riders and their descendants. Though she’d already been through most of these volumes, Veronyka found herself absently seeking her name instead of Avalkyra’s, as if she might find some ancient ancestor or family to which she belonged. She studied the Ashfire line most closely of all. Could she be a relative? A distant cousin? It would explain why Val had bothered to raise her, even if it wouldn’t explain much else. She didn’t allow herself to hope but rather studied the pages with a detached, almost clinical interest. And of course she found nothing, tracing from Nefyra Ashfire all the way down to Avalkyra and Pheronia, the last members of the royal line.

  Most all of the Ashfires had been Phoenix Riders, and Xephyra stirred with interest in the back of Veronyka’s mind as she pored over lists of bonded pairs or famous phoenixes.

  Xephyra, her phoenix said through the bond, a question or a promise, maybe, that her name would one day be among these legends.

  Xephyra, bondmate of Veronyka, Veronyka replied. After Xephyra’s surge of satisfaction, the link between them quieted again.

  While most Riders outshone their mounts in terms of fame and notoriety, there were some phoenixes that stood out and gained reputations of their own, or pairs that were always listed together. Cirix, the first male phoenix, was particularly well known because he’d been resurrected no less than five times, bonding with various descendants of his first bondmate, Callysta, over a period of two hundred years. Nefyra and Ignix were the first-ever Phoenix Riders and so were often named together, and Ignix had been a mated pair with Cirix throughout his many lives. Queen Genya’s mount, Exiline, was famously large, her wingspan measuring nearly eight meters wide. It earned her the nickname General’s Shadow, for the wide swath of darkness that slid over the ground, marking her passing in the sky.

  Though these tales were her favorites, Veronyka put the familiar volume aside. For the first time since she’d begun lessons, she sought books and scrolls on a different subject matter: shadow magic. She knew it wasn’t a recognized magical discipline, and the odds of finding anything on it in Cassian’s library were extremely low, but she had to try. After the events of the previous day’s combat lessons, Veronyka was more determined than ever to get it under control.

  In truth, she wanted nothing more than to tell Tristan about it—to spew all her fears and worries and bring down the last of the barriers between them. But those barriers… they were her last scraps of self-preservation. She didn’t know how to explain the way the magic scared her, the way Val wielded it with such precision… the way it made her feel vulnerable and unsafe in her own mind. And then there was Val, too—her true identity something else
she hadn’t yet told him. But wouldn’t opening up to him make the bond between them stronger? Or would telling him help Veronyka get their link under control?

  Veronyka spent the entire lesson and half of her lunch break shifting through all the books she could find on magic, to no avail. She had better luck with the volumes of myths and legends, reading between the lines about witches using mysterious spells or ancient queens who controlled their subjects with unknown magical powers. Still, none of it helped Veronyka. There were no “how to” chapters, no practical information or advice.

  But as she hastily reshelved the books before afternoon lessons, hoping to sneak into the dining hall for a quick lunch, Veronyka realized that there was someone besides Val she could ask about shadow magic: Morra, the stronghold’s cook, who was a veteran Phoenix Rider from the Blood War—and a shadowmage herself.

  Veronyka would have to reveal her own shadow magic in the process, but she knew in her heart that Morra wouldn’t shun or shame her. Maybe she could give Veronyka some basic information and guidance.

  Maybe she could teach her to stop being scared of her own magic.

  * * *

  Veronyka didn’t get a chance to speak to Morra in private until after dinner.

  She walked through the empty dining hall, the benches placed atop the long wooden tables so that the floor could be swept, while the fireplaces that ran along the far wall burned low.

  On the other side, Morra was alone in the kitchens, hunched over the counter as she finished whatever prep needed doing before the morning. The fireplaces separated the cooking area from the dining hall, casting her work space into flickering orange and yellow light.

  Hearing Veronyka’s hesitant footsteps, she turned.