Took you long enough, Avalkyra said by way of greeting, annoyed even as the sight of her bondmate and the surge of magic she brought was like her first deep breath of air in nearly two decades.
Those large ebony eyes fell on Avalkyra: It takes as long as it takes.
Avalkyra couldn’t help but smirk. Her bondmate was precocious, and speaking exceedingly well for her age. Her attitude, on the other hand, was less welcome. Was it the futile rebellion of a youth on the cusp of adulthood? Or Avalkyra’s own disregard for authority coming back to bite her?
Whatever it was, the strix would not be easily cowed.
The thought was both a challenge and a relief.
She needed a true partner, after all… not an equal, but an ally and an asset—a mount that could keep up with her. Someone strong and capable and made in her own image.
Avalkyra had spent days in convalescence, watching this new stranger just as the creature watched her, both wary of each other despite the magic that bound them.
Avalkyra did not easily trust, and she was no fit mother for a soft, new-made thing.
Luckily, her bondmate was neither.
Sharp as broken glass and ancient as the night, the strix didn’t love Avalkyra—she required her—and that kind of relationship suited them both. Their bond came of likeness and necessity. Her mount hungered for something more than food. She craved life—not to revel in it, but to claim and destroy it.
Avalkyra knew the feeling, of course. She had given it to her.
When she had named her phoenix, Nyx, she had been young and idealistic. The name meant “victory,” plain and simple.
But there was nothing plain and simple about the victory Avalkyra envisioned now. This victory had already come at great cost, and there would be more to pay, she knew. It would be a last, final, dark victory.
And then she had it. Onyx.
Onbra meant “dark” or “shadow” in Pyraean, and Nyx meant “victory.” Together, she had the perfect name.
Standing before Avalkyra now, Onyx dropped her burden at her bondmate’s feet and straightened.
Dead things. Always dead things. Avalkyra sent her for plants and animals, food and firewood—and every time she returned with dried-out husks and brittle bones. Nothing living.
Avalkyra sighed. She would starve at this rate. She would have already if not for Sidra.
Onyx lifted her head abruptly, and a sound reached Avalkyra’s ears. Distant and echoing… More wingbeats? It must be Sidra, though Avalkyra had not sent for her.
The woman did not live here in Aura, but she always came when called—it was the nature of the bind, and Sidra’s own subservient personality.
Avalkyra continued to listen, but the sound was gone.
Had it been Sidra? Somehow, Avalkyra doubted it. Neither she nor her phoenix could bear to be around Onyx for long. It seemed that the same thing that happened to plants and animals happened to all living things.
But it did not happen to Avalkyra. Maybe like called to like, and she did not have enough life left in her to drain.
Maybe the bond protected her.
Or maybe the bond took what it needed to grow strong, but Avalkyra didn’t notice because it made her strong in turn.
That was the thing with bonds: You had to give in order to receive. Not just respect and affection—whatever Veronyka might believe—but power.
A mage gave magical power to their bondmate, and so too did they give power in turn.
This was why Avalkyra’s magic was stronger than it had been since her last life. A bonded mage was always stronger than a solitary mage, but the connection came with risks.
Veronyka was proof of that.
Binds, being one-way, were safer, but they were also limited. More than she had truly realized until she’d hatched Onyx. Binds gave nothing but obedience, and worse, like a leech, they sucked energy and effort—they depleted her and her magic.
Onyx had given Avalkyra more power than she’d had in her entire second lifetime, but even that remarkable surge would not be enough. Not for what Avalkyra had in mind. Not for total, utter destruction. Not for vengeance that would shake the world and shatter its bones.
For that she would need more. They were only two, after all, and she was up against an empire.
She turned in the direction of the Everlasting Flame and the hundreds of eggs that littered the ground around it.
Yes, Avalkyra needed more of this power, and she knew exactly where to get it.
Day 9, Fifth Moon, 175 AE
I have a task for you.
You do not know me, but I know you. It is my business to know things.
I am a fan of your research, and Olanna Flamesong spoke most highly of you.
Has the war ended for you, like it has so many others… or are you still willing to fight for the Ashfire cause?
Meet me on Temple Street, tenth bell, tomorrow.
Come alone.
—S
But I did not come into this world alone.
- CHAPTER 3 - TRISTAN
TRISTAN JERKED AWAKE, HEART hammering and sweat coating his skin.
It took a moment for him to remember where he was. It always took a moment these days. First there was the dull ache in his chest where Rex should be—not gone, exactly, but numbed almost beyond feeling.
When he pushed past that ache, he felt the ache of his failure. He’d flown into the empire to rescue Veronyka, not to wind up captured himself. He’d convinced his father, risked everyone’s lives… and he’d just given Rolan one more bargaining chip to use against the Phoenix Riders. At least Veronyka was safe.
Veronyka. Her ache was the most painful ache of all. Every night he dreamed of her—but they were not comforting dreams. They were dark and lonely and echoing, her voice so faint he could barely hear it, her presence like a ghost haunting his mind. And last night’s dream… He thought Val might have been there too, which was enough to send a shudder down his spine.
He pressed a hand to the breast pocket of his tunic, withdrawing half of a broken obsidian arrowhead. It was one of his only personal possessions, a keepsake he happened to have on him the day Rolan captured him. It reminded him of Veronyka, who had the other half, and as he rubbed his thumb across the smooth, shining surface, his anxiety eased.
Tristan sat up, the last and least of his aches—the physical ones—rolling over him in waves. His back was stiff from the thin pallet on its cold metal frame. His sweaty skin covered in chills from the damp, stale air. And the darkness… Tristan blinked, his cell materializing more solidly around him with every heart-pounding breath.
Three stone walls and the fourth made of bars. Barred window. Two guards outside his cell day and night.
As he came back to himself, Tristan realized that he hadn’t awoken on his own—distantly a latch clanged shut, reverberating through the space, followed by the scrape of boots on rough-hewn steps.
Tristan glanced to the window—it was full dark out. There wasn’t usually a guard change until dawn.
The footsteps finally stopped, and one of the guards outside Tristan’s cell spoke. “Where’s Mal?”
“Puking his guts out.”
Tristan scrambled to his feet. He knew that voice.
Sev. It had been weeks since Tristan was taken as Lord Rolan’s prisoner, weeks since Sev had gripped his arm and told him without speaking that they were in this together.
Weeks since Tristan had seen Sev at all.
Lord Rolan had been quick to relocate his household and his prisoner from Ferro—Tristan’s old home and a place Commander Cassian knew better than Rolan himself—back to Rolan’s ancestral home in Stel. Tristan hadn’t even been certain that Sev had come with them.
“He had the fish at dinner,” Sev continued, his voice bland and unassuming. There was a pause. “Wait… you didn’t have the fish too, did you?”
The response was a low, gurgling growl that had most certainly come from somebody’s stomach. “I did,” the
guard answered, voice slightly choked.
Tristan’s groggy mind woke up. Mal and Ian were usually on the night shift. Mal had clearly run off to use the bathroom facilities, and Sev had taken his place. But it sounded like Ian wouldn’t be far behind. There was another rumbling sound, followed by a gag.
“Go on,” Sev said amiably. “I’ll stay until the shift change. If anyone asks, I’ll cover for you.”
There was no reply, just a muttered curse and the sound of frantic, stumbling footsteps receding up the distant staircase.
A second later, Sev appeared at the barred wall of his cell.
He looked different from Tristan’s memories of him, where he was dressed as a raider with an arrow protruding from his shoulder, or armored and dirty, fresh from a battlefield with sweat-soaked hair hanging in his eyes. Now he was clean, in a brand-new soldier’s uniform, his hair cut close in the military style. It made Tristan’s hand fly up to his own hair, which had been shorn as well. Since the Blood War it was empire tradition to cut off the hair of Phoenix Rider prisoners to remove any trace of their previous position. Tristan didn’t wear any braids or feathers, but now it would be a long time before he could.
“It’s all right,” Sev said, as Tristan’s focus shifted down the hall from where Sev had come. “We’re alone. For now.”
Tristan nodded, but Sev’s gaze was roving, sizing him up.
“How are they treating you? Is the food okay?”
“It’s better than the guards’, apparently.”
“Oh, they eat just fine,” Sev said, waving away his words. “The fish wasn’t the problem—I was.”
Tristan gaped. “You”—he lowered his voice—“poisoned them?”
“Barely,” Sev said with a crooked shrug. “Just enough to make them run to the toilet, not enough to kill them. I needed to talk to you, but I didn’t need to leave a body trail. Not yet, anyway.”
“So that means…,” Tristan began, his mind still bleary with sleep.
“No word—no plans,” Sev said, his voice tinged with frustration. Tristan had come to stand directly in front of him, so they were just inches apart. Still, it was difficult to see Sev’s expression in the darkness. “It’s my fault. They’re waiting on information. We can’t make a move with Rolan here, surrounded by what’s left of his army and his private household guard. We also can’t afford to try and have Phoenix Riders spotted in the sky in Stel, when it could mean word getting back to the council and affecting their decision.”
Tristan’s heart was heavy in his chest. No word—no plans. “When is the Grand Council meeting?”
“I don’t know,” Sev said, looking away. Tristan could see a muscle in his jaw jump. “But Rolan’s still here, which means it hasn’t happened yet. With any luck, we’ll get some kind of warning before he heads to the capital. When he’s in Aura Nova, taking the majority of his soldiers with him, we’ll make our move.”
“But—what about the meeting? We can’t split our forces even further. The commander needs to argue our case.”
“Not according to his terms with Rolan. If Rolan knows your father has betrayed him before we’ve gotten you to safety—”
“So what?” Tristan said, his own frustration coming through. He didn’t particularly like his father’s mad plan to attend the council meeting with the intention of assassinating select members in order to delay the vote and strengthen their future alliances, but it was the only plan they had. If his father didn’t go against his deal with Rolan, that might mean he intended to deliver on what he’d promised… including delivering Veronyka to Rolan as his bride. Tristan’s stomach clenched painfully. His father wouldn’t do that.
He wouldn’t.
“So what?” Sev repeated incredulously. “You’re the commander’s son. You’re valuable.”
His tone made Tristan pause. He supposed for someone like Sev, the idea that anyone would want to rescue him would be a miracle, something he’d likely spent his whole life wishing for. And here Tristan was, taking it for granted.
“We’re valuable,” Tristan argued. “Whatever happens, you’re coming with me.”
“I’m not sure what kind of use I am beyond these walls.…”
“I’m sure,” Tristan said staunchly. “You saved all our lives. We’re in this together, and we’re getting out of it together.”
Sev didn’t say anything, but Tristan thought maybe he stood a little straighter after that. “Well,” Sev said eventually, “speaking of that—we’ve got work to do.” He glanced over his shoulder, down the passage toward the stairs. Then his gaze flicked upward to the window in Tristan’s cell. Already soft gray light was filling the space, meaning that dawn wasn’t far off.
“We do?” Tristan asked, moving even closer and gripping the cool metal bars. He was desperate for something to do, anything to occupy his mind and make him feel useful and not like a total failure.
Some way to make it up to Veronyka and his father. To prove that he still had what it took to be a leader, not just a liability.
“Even if Rolan makes things easy for us and leaves with plenty of warning and the majority of his forces, you’re still in an underground cell, watched day and night, surrounded by a full household guard inside a walled compound in Stel. They’re gonna need some help.”
“Help,” Tristan repeated faintly, the task sounding insurmountable when Sev put it like that.
Sev nodded. “I’ve been doing what I can to memorize the guard schedules and the layout of the estate. Once I have a proper floor plan, we can start looking for weak points in the defenses, or possible routes for escape. The problem is this dungeon.”
“What do you mean?” Tristan asked.
“It’s strange,” Sev began, tone thoughtful. “In a lot of ways, this house is similar to the estate in Ferro. Same rough layout, and a lot of the same features—courtyards, wide hallways, and open-air colonnades…”
“It was trendy for a time to mimic Ferronese architecture in Stel. A way to get in King Damian’s good graces.” Tristan smiled slightly at the injustice Rolan must have felt, hating Damian and Ferro and their rocky history with his ancestor Rol and yet living in a house inspired by their culture. “Although…” Tristan paused, leaning forward as much as he could to peer around the darkened hallway outside his door. “The Ferronese never built dungeons. Historically, our prisoners were kept in towers.” Like he had been, before they’d come here. Like Veronyka had been.
Sev frowned. “It must be a newer renovation. This entire wing looks different from the rest of the house.”
“If there was a renovation, there will likely be a record of it somewhere in the library. Including floor plans and technical drawings.”
Sev perked up. “I’ll check first thing tomorrow.”
“How will you come back? You can’t keep poisoning the fish.”
Sev hesitated. Tristan had the feeling he didn’t know how he’d come back but didn’t want to admit it. “I’ll figure it out,” Sev said finally. “But you’ve given me a good lead. If I can find the fastest way out of here and the closest exits… we’ll have a shot.”
I had a sister, once.…
- CHAPTER 4 - SEV
SEV WAS IN HIGH spirits when he left the dungeon at the guard shift change.
It had been a frustrating few weeks. When Rolan decided to leave the governor’s estate in Ferro and make for his family home in Stel, Sev had scrambled—lying, sneaking, and eventually begging—to get transferred along with the others, and it had been a near thing. But even that success was short-lived. After casing the Ferronese estate for days with Kade, learning all the building’s secrets, Sev would have to start all over again in Stel. And this time, he didn’t have Kade with him.
After they’d parted, Sev hadn’t slept until he’d gotten a reply to his letter to the commander. In it, he had vowed to stay by Tristan’s side and keep him safe. He had also sent a letter for Kade—and a gift. His very own phoenix egg. Sev might have promised Kade a reu
nion, but that didn’t mean he could deliver on it. But the egg, at least, he could deliver on. It was important to Sev to know that whatever might happen to him, Kade would have a life when all this was done. He would have a place to belong. It was the least Sev could do.
Even still, the commander’s reply did not address Sev’s note to Kade, nor his gift—it simply thanked him for the information, promised Kade, Riella, and the others had returned to the Eyrie safely… and that they eagerly awaited his next report.
Sev was eager to give it. But after detailing the transfer to Stel, he’d had nothing further to report. It was like Tristan said; in Ferro, he’d been held in a tower, and it was easy enough for Sev to keep an eye on things and know that Tristan was okay. But as soon as they’d arrived in Stel, after a two-day march, Tristan had been hauled down into the dungeon, and Sev hadn’t seen him since.
There was no way to wander past the entrance to the dungeons discreetly—they were housed in the renovated wing of the estate that was heavily guarded but otherwise unoccupied. So unless Sev got assigned to prison detail, he had no reason to go near the place. And Sev had tried. He had requested a new position, offered to trade or cover double shifts, but Lord Rolan had only his most senior soldiers guarding the exiled governor’s son, and kept their schedules secret. Sev had had to watch the building day and night, forgoing sleep and meals, marking when people came and went, and putting together a rough schedule in his head.
Finally, he’d had enough information to do something, and so he’d lightly poisoned the midnight watch guards’ meals. It was easier than the day guards, who ate in the soldiers’ mess. The night watch was on a nocturnal schedule and so ate separately from the others. All Sev had to do was distract the kitchen servant with a series of stupid questions—he was embarrassingly good at this, asking about kettles and colanders until the girl clearly couldn’t tell if Sev was trying to flirt with her or had never been inside a kitchen before—and sprinkle some dried oleander onto the dinner trays when her eyes were rolled. It might not have been as dramatic and poignant as the bloodred Phoenix Flowers Trix had so favored, but it was easier to get in Stel, and it was still effective.
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