Heart of Flames Page 6

  He hated the decisions he’d made, but what else could he have done? He railed at it, the injustice of what had happened to him. He’d been forced to choose, to pick between his family—his baby sister—and his new friends. But it hadn’t really been a choice at all. He’d tried to keep his distance from the people he was meant to betray to make the pain of what he was doing easier, but it hadn’t worked.

  Elliot didn’t just hate his decisions…. He hated himself. Hated that Jaxon was bound to him. His bondmate should leave, fly away and be free.

  His vision glistened and sparkled with unshed tears, and he stared up at the stars.

  “Do you hear me?” he shouted at his bondmate, who sensed his obvious distress and redirected midflight to land in front of Elliot. Elliot released a shuddering breath and lowered his voice. When Jax leaned forward, nudging at Elliot’s chest, Elliot shoved his bondmate roughly away. “You should leave.”

  “Are you talking to me?” came a voice from directly behind Elliot, so close at hand that he literally jumped. He whipped around, stepping subconsciously in front of Jax as if to protect him, when his mind had already pieced together what his sight confirmed: The speaker was a young girl. Pale, freckled skin. Tangled blond hair. Surrounded by a veritable menagerie and holding what was clearly a homemade spear.

  “I—what? No, no I’m not,” Elliot said, still collecting himself after she’d so badly startled him. He cleared his throat and swiped hastily at his eyes, when he realized that this was the girl who assisted Ersken with the phoenixes—the girl who was blind. He puffed out his cheeks with a breath of relief. She hadn’t caught him crying—she hadn’t seen his tears at all. “I didn’t see you there. I was just taking Jax out for some exercise.”

  She frowned at him—or at least, in his general direction. Her head was tilted slightly, as if she were listening to or sensing her surroundings rather than really seeing them. There was a bird perched atop her head, a pair of dogs trailing after her, and as she brushed absently at her shoulder, Elliot realized there was a mangy ginger cat hiding underneath her hair, scrawny and feral-looking, with a missing ear and tail.

  Her hand stilled, as if she’d realized something. “Jax. You’re Elliot, then?” she asked, and Elliot’s stomach plummeted. “The one…,” she continued, face scrunched up, and Elliot stared at his feet, waiting for her to finish.

  The one who spied. The one who betrayed us. The one who’s grounded indefinitely and will probably never be allowed to fly with the others again.

  “…whose sister is missing.”

  Elliot looked up. Every time Riella was mentioned—usually brusquely by the commander, one of a dozen loose ends for him to tie up, and no more—it felt like getting punched in the stomach. But for some reason, when this girl said “sister,” Elliot didn’t feel the word like a blow. Maybe it was her tone—deliberate and without pretense—or maybe it was the fact that she had remembered him not as the person who had done bad things, but instead, as the person who’d had bad things done to him. The person who was missing something.

  The person who was missing someone.

  Elliot nodding, then, remembering himself, added, “Yes.”

  “Riella,” the girl said brightly, as if pleased with herself for remembering the name. One of the dogs started gnawing on the bottom of her spear, which she seemed to use as a walking stick. Rather than shoo the dog away, she lobbed the stick across the field, and both dogs barked and chased after it.

  “That’s right,” Elliot said as he watched the dogs fighting over the narrow piece of wood.

  “My name’s Sparrow,” she said, then frowned. “It’s not so pretty as Riella…,” she mused. “But it’s mine.” Again, her simple words about Elliot’s sister went straight to his chest, but not in a bad way.

  Sparrow bent to put the cat onto the ground, causing the bird that perched on her head to shift and ruffle its feathers. A lightning bolt of realization zipped through him. He’d seen this girl before—not just in the stronghold, but in Vayle, with Veronyka. She’d been trying to steal from the bloody wagon, or at least he’d thought she was. He was probably just paranoid. When you were constantly plotting deception and hiding your intentions, you tended to think others were as well. She had probably just been trying to get herself in with the Riders like Veronyka, who’d soon taken on the disguise of Nyk.

  Nyk. Veronyka had lied to everyone and concealed the fact that she’d already had a bondmate. She’d deceived the Riders, the same as Elliot, but no one hated her. At least, not the way they hated him. They were wary of her, maybe. But she wasn’t grounded. She wasn’t punished.

  But she didn’t lead the empire to their doorstep; she didn’t put everyone’s lives in danger.

  The day he’d first met Veronyka and Sparrow in Vayle had also been the night that Elliot had slipped off to meet with Captain Belden, refusing to give any more information until he had assurances that Riella was okay. The snake of a man had given Elliot some scrap of a letter with no trace of his sister in the words or the penmanship.

  The knowledge that it might have all been for nothing was like broken glass prickling over Elliot’s skin. Had his dreams of saving his sister been lost even then? Had they ever been possible, or had Riella been dead as soon as those soldiers marched her out their front door, Elliot’s father holding him back as he kicked and yelled and fought?

  Elliot glared at the girl before him, in no mood to talk—or think—about Riella.

  “It’s late. You…” He paused, not sure what to say but determined to end the conversation. “You should go back inside.”

  Sparrow stilled before him, as if she weren’t unused to being spoken to rudely but was still taken aback by it. “Too quiet inside,” she said. “And he wants me to stay.”

  She was nodding her chin over Elliot’s shoulder, where Jaxon stood. Elliot stared at his bondmate, who was blinking bright, curious eyes at Sparrow and inching closer to her.

  A stab of something like annoyance throbbed in Elliot’s stomach. He reached out and placed a hand on his phoenix’s warm neck, meaning to stop his movement. It ached to touch Jax this way, to be this close and yet unable to mount up and ride. But Jax needed his exercise, not to stand around and play with some half-wild animage. And the last thing Elliot needed—or wanted—was this girl hanging around. This girl, who was probably the same age as Riella and even reminded Elliot of her a bit—the dirty knees and scraggly hair and constant parade of animals.

  “What he wants,” Elliot said, his voice hard, “is to fly while he has the chance.”

  “Maybe,” Sparrow said, her tone light and conversational, as if she didn’t notice—or didn’t care—how rude Elliot was being. “Maybe he wants to be friends.”

  Elliot snorted. “There are no friends for us here.”

  “You could make friends,” Sparrow pointed out, her calm voice becoming more and more maddening to Elliot with every word she spoke.

  “In case you didn’t hear, I betrayed all my friends, Sparrow. So now we have no one,” he said, fighting for composure, all while Sparrow’s eyes were wide and unseeing and filled with understanding well beyond her years. He turned away, continuing to pet Jax, but it was an automatic gesture, something to do with his hands to stop them from shaking. “I ruined everything—I hurt everyone, and Riella’s…” He trailed off, unable to finish.

  When Elliot turned back around, Sparrow was standing close behind him. Her brow was furrowed, but after a moment’s consideration, she scooped up the cat from the ground—where it was twisting between her legs—and shoved it none too gently into Elliot’s chest.

  Elliot scrambled to catch the creature as it mewled reproachfully and scrabbled with sharp claws against his tunic. He realized upon closer inspection that it was barely more than a kitten, and it was missing one of its legs as well as its ear and tail. His magic went out to the animal, calming it, and Jax released a slow, steady pulse of soothing heat.

  “That’s Carrot,” Sparrow sa
id, nodding at the cat. “She fought in the attack on the stronghold, brave as a mountain lion, and she lost her ear, her tail, and her leg—but she’s still here. I lost…” Sparrow swallowed, and for the first time that night, she looked uncertain. Vulnerable. “I lost Chirp, my best friend. But I’m still here. I can’t bring Chirp back, and I can’t change that he fought to protect me and died. But I can take care of Carrot. And Ash,” she added, gesturing to the pigeon that had been riding on her head, one of its wings gone, “and Lucky and Larry.” Behind her, the two dogs, similarly scarred and wounded as Carrot, ambled around as best they could.

  “I can still do good things,” Sparrow continued. “No matter how much I miss Chirp. No matter how much I blame myself for what happened to him. Maybe, one day, the good things will make up for the bad things. If not out here,” she said, gesturing around them, “then maybe in here,” she finished, pointing to her chest.

  Elliot bit his tongue. He wanted to rage at her that he hadn’t lost some bird, he’d lost his sister, but then he shot an apologetic look at Jax, whose expression was baleful. He sighed, staring down at the cat. There was something about this girl that had gotten under his skin… something about her words that made him second-guess himself.

  “It’s not the same thing. Your friend, your Chip—”

  “Chirp,” she corrected, her lips pursed. “What kinda name is Chip for a bird?”

  What kinda name is Carrot for a cat? he wanted to say but didn’t. “Right—well, Chirp, he chose to fight for you, didn’t he? But Riella didn’t choose to be taken as a hostage. The Riders didn’t choose to give up information in the hopes of securing her release. I did all that. I’ve done so much damage, and there’s no fixing it. There’s no undoing it or making up for it.”

  Sparrow considered this as Elliot bent to put Carrot into the tall grass. The dogs bounced over, biting and snapping and hoping for another playmate—but Carrot turned up her nose and batted the nearest pup away. Elliot watched, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He had to admit that the animals lightened his dark mood. He’d almost forgotten what they were talking about when Sparrow finally spoke.

  “Maybe you can’t undo it or fix it. But you hurt people,” she said, and Elliot’s chest tightened. Yes, he’d hurt people. He’d led soldiers to their doorstep. “You let your commander down. You made your friends sad.”

  Elliot wasn’t sure he’d use the word “sad,” but then again, he did sense that the others didn’t hate him as much as they were disappointed in him. He’d betrayed their trust more than anything else. And he supposed that had made them sad.

  “If you want to oversimplify it for the sake of your argument, sure,” he said with a sigh.

  Sparrow ignored the sarcastic comment. “Then what you have to do is easy.”

  “What?” Elliot asked with a laugh. The sound was rusty, as if he hadn’t done it in so long, his throat had forgotten how. “Make them happy?” It was ridiculous. Juvenile. The words of a child.

  As if he could really make them all forget—and forgive—what he’d done, simply by trying to make them happy. How could that ever be enough?

  Sparrow nodded gravely. “You don’t just make them happy. You show them you still care.”

  When I was young, my sky had three suns: my mother, my father,

  and my sister. I thought I would bask forever in their warm glow,

  our lives together like fixed points in a never-changing universe.

  But it was not meant to be.

  - CHAPTER 6 - TRISTAN

  IT WAS SEVERAL DAYS before Tristan had a chance to be alone with Veronyka. Not that he would’ve known what to say even if he had been alone with her. Guilt gnawed at him—both for holding back during their sparring match and for finally defeating her. In front of everyone. But Veronyka was far too hard on herself. She expected to be at Tristan’s level after only a few short weeks of training, when he’d had years of practice. No one else asked it or expected it of her; rather, she asked it of herself.

  And yet Tristan understood her drive. They were all feeling a bit restless, a bit antsy in the wake of the empire’s attack. Somehow, they had made it through—thanks in no small part to Veronyka’s bravery and quick thinking. Everyone in the stronghold and village had come together to defend this place, and while new camaraderie blossomed, fear and anxiety weren’t far behind.

  Like Veronyka, Tristan was desperate to get out there and actually do something after the attack. So far, the Master Riders were only doing patrols and sporadic safety checks at local villages. They weren’t exacting revenge on the empire or planning some grand retaliation.

  They were doing almost nothing at all. He hated it, and he knew Veronyka did too. How much worse would her helplessness be when she couldn’t even leave the Eyrie on more than practice runs or training missions? No wonder she was on edge.

  While Tristan had gotten his promotion and his own patrol, Veronyka’s position was more difficult to define. She was technically a new recruit, but Xephyra was over three months old, and they had been riding even before she was officially taken on. Veronyka had well-honed bond magic and a strong connection with her phoenix, but she was behind in things like combat and weapons training. She was also Nyk the stable boy turned Veronyka, the new Rider apprentice. She was the same person, yet somehow different, and it seemed that people didn’t know exactly how to treat her, Tristan among them. Even helping her seemed to make things worse—his hesitation during the fight was a prime example.

  It was late evening when Tristan found Veronyka sitting on the walkway outside his new Master Rider quarters, the sky a dusky purple as it hung over the expanse of the Eyrie. The rest of the walkways, stacked in tiers like the seating of an amphitheater, were dark and quiet, save for the shuffling of feathers as a phoenix settled in to sleep for the night.

  She was hunched over his armor, treating the leather with pyraflora resin anywhere it had thinned or worn off—part of her underwing duties. The smell was pungent, and despite the growing twilight, she worked by the glow of two phoenixes: Xephyra and Rex, nestled on either side of her.

  Rex was the first to note Tristan’s approach, shaking out his wings and tilting his head in Tristan’s direction.

  Absorbed in her work, Veronyka didn’t look up or notice his presence. “Steady, Rex. You’re making the light dance….”

  Something about the way she addressed Tristan’s bondmate, with affection and familiarity, made Tristan’s chest swell.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t be working until it’s dark,” Tristan offered after watching her for several silent moments. Veronyka twisted to look up at him.

  Her face fell, and she immediately looked away, avoiding his gaze—as she had every day since their last match in the ring. Tristan couldn’t figure out if it was anger or embarrassment or something else entirely, but he was tired of guessing. With a pat on Rex’s rump and a jerk of his chin, Tristan dismissed his bondmate, who ruffled his feathers in haughty indignation, taking to the air only to flutter around Veronyka’s other side and settle next to Xephyra instead. Tristan smiled, knowing Rex’s reaction was mostly a performance, thanks to their bond. He promised candied ginger—Rex’s favorite—tomorrow, and his bondmate perked up considerably.

  “So,” Tristan said, easing down onto the ground next to Veronyka. He glanced at her, features cast into profile thanks to Xephyra’s glow. Her hair had grown a bit since she’d first arrived here—well, since Tristan first took her as a captive. The memory made him smile now. He thought of the way she’d constantly challenged him and made him better. She’d been Nyk then, and when he’d discovered that she’d been lying about who she was, he’d feared he’d lost the person he knew. The person he was rapidly growing more-than-friendship feelings for. But Veronyka was Nyk, and Nyk was Veronyka. His feelings hadn’t changed. They continued to grow with each passing day.

  Her shoulders shifted slightly—she was aware of his presence but unwilling to face him. “So,” she s
aid in response, head still bowed over her work.

  Veronyka’s hair was blacker than night, silken and shiny, often falling into her eyes or whipping in the wind. Tristan loved the wildness of it, and he could picture her in a few years, head heavy with beads and braids commemorating all her achievements. He never doubted that she would get there, knew that it would happen… but maybe she didn’t. Maybe that was why her perceived failure cut so deep. She had been through more to become a Rider than anyone he knew: years of constant fear and poverty, the death of her bondmate—by her sister’s own hand, which Veronyka had only recently revealed to him. He’d disliked Val before, but now just the thought of her was enough to make Tristan’s blood boil. He could only imagine how Veronyka felt about her, having to flee their home and pretend to be a boy, not to mention the reappearance of her phoenix and the battle for the Eyrie. She had come so far, but she still wasn’t there. Tristan understood the feeling, if only marginally, and had wanted to make things easier for her, but since when had Veronyka ever wanted anything easy?

  She continued to ignore him, so Tristan reached across her and snatched the leather armor, flinging it unceremoniously to his other side. Her mouth opened, scandalized—she was far more careful and meticulous with his gear than he was—and he grinned. She smiled too, but reluctantly.

  Tristan’s face fell, and he sighed. “You’re mad at me,” he said.

  “No, I’m not,” she said at once.

  He stared expectantly at her, brows raised. She didn’t look at him, but made a sudden lunge for the armor, diving across his lap. He caught her, a laugh rumbling in his chest at her determination, and reached back to knock the leather off the walkway and down into the echoing caverns of the Eyrie a hundred feet below.