“Each of us has our own unique talents, and every one of you has a voice in our brood,” Natazia said.

But you will have the final word, Zyryxa mused, trying and failing not to feel sore that it wasn’t her.

“But I will have the final say,” Natazia finished.

Her completing Natazia’s sentences didn’t sooth the sting.

With their destination undetermined, they broke for camp where the ravine met the border of the crystalline forest and a tundra of endless viridix. The vibrant greenery shimmered under the descending sun. Natazia’s orders were frustratingly similar to what Zyryxa would have given. Lexyn, appointed the brood’s quartermaster, gathered herbs and tallied their supplies. Pelzyq made the fire and prepared the meal—a role in which he was undeniably superior. Natazia constructed a makeshift gelubor blind with skill Zyryxa couldn’t match. And Zyryxa herself tended to the drakes, knowing them better than anyone.

Zyryxa tried to see the bright side in being led by such a competent broodmaster, but it darkened her mood. If Zyryxa couldn’t be the best leader in a group of four, how could she become Champion of thousands?

Zyryxa put on a veneer of icy stoicism, but there were cracks within the cool exterior. Sensing these fissures, Zyrxl nudged her. Zyryxa leaned into the large coldscale, nudging her back. This bond patched some of the fractures—the loyalty of one creature reminded her that she could still lead, still be loved and revered.

“I have to be patient,” she murmured to the coldscale. “Beware the warrior’s pride.”

Throwing her arms around Zyrxl’s neck, she took a deep breath. “Maybe this is good for us,” she said, recalling something Abbaz once told her. At the time, she had dismissed it as weak drivel from a bard who couldn’t quite cut it. “To be worthy of leading, one must understand what it means to follow.”

This was a test. She would prove that her pride could endure the challenge of not immediately getting everything she wanted. Besides, if she couldn’t empathize with those who followed orders, how could she ever give them compassionately? She exhaled deeply, feeling the mental soreness flow out of her. This was good for her. She believed in that now and in the words her father spoke.

For the first time in ages, she yearned to hear Abbaz’s voice—that man who, for all his faults, had loved her. He had done his best. For a bard.

Qoryxa’s flaming eyes, she thought, I want to hear him again.

Wiping away her tears, she buried her face in Zyrxl’s neck, determined not to let anyone see her cry over a bard. She pulled herself together, promising herself she would visit Abbaz the next time she returned to Loxzua.

Natazia corralled the brood toward Pelzyq’s fire, where the scent of roasting meat filled the air. “I place us halfway between Nix Tezyk and Pryxvalliz,” she said. “Nix Tezyk will have no homesteads, while Pryxvalliz likely has them scattered throughout the valley. Before we approach either, I want Zyryxa to help us capture two more drakes.”

Natazia glanced at Zyryxa. Zyryxa returned her gaze with a curt nod. Natazia’s judgment was sound, as usual, and it pleased her to offer her own thoughts. “Consider it done. Nix Tezyk is endless tundra with no cover from its brutal winds. There are no gelubor to create blinds or to use as fuel. Even I chose to only spend a few days there during my rite.”

She examined her allies. Natazia wore mismatched garments were looted from dead Fire Tribe warriors and was still barefoot. Pelzyq’s gura furs could endure some cold, but not the relentless chill of Nix Tezyk. Lexyn was immaculate, outfitted in abominable furs and drakescale boots—though it would make little difference with her Leverian blood.

Lexyn reached the same conclusion. “We’re not outfitted for Nix Tezyk. We’ll need heavier furs, blankets, reliable heat sources, and at least one tent to shield us from the winds.”

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“Zyryxa can break wind, and Pelzyq can provide heat,” Pelzyq said, grinning as he methodically turned the day’s catch over the fire.

“If we’re not prepared for Nix Tezyk,” Natazia replied, “we’ll save the qione for last.” She spoke with such clear relief, the usually somber woman was practically giddy. Zyryxa knew it wasn’t the qione she feared so much as the dragon knight presiding over nearby Riverwatch.

“Does anyone know how to find a vordt?” Lexyn asked. “I’ve heard stories of broods searching for moons without seeing one.”

“How hard can it be?” Pelzyq said. “I’m sure our great hunter saw some during her rite. Eh, Zyryxa?” He offered a friendly smile.

Finally, she received a genuine compliment from Pelzyq that had nothing to do with her appearance. Of course, she couldn’t accept it. She offered him a nod anyway, appreciating the effort. “I’ve never seen a vordt. I was told that finding them is always either the longest or second longest task of the five. More knight-aspirants never wake from their slumber in Pryxvalliz than will ever lay eyes on a vordt.”

Pelzyq frowned. “Do you know how to find one, Natazia?”

Natazia sighed. “Honestly, I didn’t know it was so hard.” She bit her lip and shook her head.

“So,” Lexyn began, “if we cannot endure Nix Tezyk without better provisions, and we risk dying in our sleep in Pryxvalliz without more information, it makes sense that our next destination should be somewhere we can get supplied with both.” She smiled. “I can think of only one place.”

“Loxzua,” Zyryxa said softly, thinking of the city by the sea where a little girl once had a mother and a father. “I know where to find drakes along the way. And I know someone who has completed the five trials.” Her voice caught on each word, struggling to get them out without crying. “He would tell us anything we need to know.” Like he’s always tried to, Zyryxa thought.

“The great bard Abbaz,” Lexyn said. “I used to listen to him on Qoryxa’s day each span. He is wise and kind. I know he would help us.”

“The Hero of the Hill?” Natazia asked. “I suppose he could. I also have connections in Loxzua that would supply us. Loxzua it is.”

Zyryxa didn’t register anything beyond the first few words. “The Hero of the Hill?” she repeated. “You’ve got it wrong. Abbaz isn’t the Hero of the Hill. He’s a bard. He doesn’t even fight.”

Natazia and Lexyn looked at Zyryxa like she was stupid. Pelzyq just looked stupid. “What’s the Hero of the Hill?” he asked.

Natazia explained, her eyes fixed on Zyryxa. “Twenty years ago, during a previous war, a Fire Tribe dragon knight wounded Champion Marazix and his dragon, Thadillux, on the Heatrise. Thadillux couldn’t reach Marazix without certain death. Only one Ice Tribe brood was on the hill. They fought through a swarm of one hundred warriors. Only one reached Marazix alive. That hero killed the fire knight and his dragon, then dragged Champion Marazix uphill to safety.”

“So, he’s almost half as strong as Pelzyq.” Lexyn slapped his arm, and he exaggerated his wound like a little sibling trying to get their big sister in trouble.

Zyryxa didn’t even take in Pelzyq’s pelzyqism. She knew the song, “Hero of the Hill.” She had been enamored with it as a child, getting excited when Matyxal or Dezoq played it during the Festival of Melding. She asked her parents about the unnamed hero. They always said the man was gone and best left in the past.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “The Hero of the Hill died. You’ve got the wrong man.”

Lexyn took Zyryxa’s hands. She said nothing, but then again, she didn’t need to. Lexyn held her, giving Zyryxa that Lexyn look of hers that said, ‘I know this is hard for you to hear and I love you.’

Zyryxa fought the sobs, her body shaking but the tears not breaking through. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

Lexyn held her. Her expression saying more than any word ever could.

Whatever walls held back the flood cracked and shattered. All her life she thought her father was a pathetic weakling, a man worthy of no respect, a disgraceful match for the mighty woman her mother was. All along, she’d been lied to. Her future with her mother was already stolen, but it hurt just as much that her past with her father had been robbed. She could have grown up respecting him, loving him as much as he loved her. If only she had known.

She fell into Lexyn’s arms, sobbing like a weak little girl too stupid to know her father was one of the greatest heroes in Volqori history. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“Ask him,” Lexyn said, caressing Zyryxa’s back, “while you still can.”

Pelzyq cleared his throat. “The meat’s ready!” he declared in a deep sing-song voice that should never be tasked with singing. “Besides,” he added, “if you think not telling you he was a competent warrior is the worst a father can do, grab a log. Pelzyq has a story for you.”

“Great idea!” Natazia said, leaping to her feet. “We’re a family. Let’s get to know each other better. I’ve got the perfect game for us to play!”