Wings of Shadow

by Nicki Pau Preto

  “Also,” she added, “you should know that Lord Rolan is dead—shot by the Riders themselves outside the meeting—and the commander was gravely wounded. He might not survive.”

  “And Veronyka?” Avalkyra asked quietly, glancing over her shoulder at Morra, who was standing in the far corner of the courtyard. How strange to not know, to not be able to reach inside and confirm for herself where and how Veronyka was. She’d checked in on their bond daily and was becoming more and more convinced there was something truly wrong with it. Avoiding each other was one thing, but this? Veronyka had blocked her many times in the past, but the result was a closed door, locked and barred—not a door that Avalkyra couldn’t even find.

  As for Rolan or Cassian, Avalkyra didn’t give a damn about either of them, but it was good to know her adversaries were scattered and dropping like flies. It was also not unexpected that Rolan should meet such a sudden and unremarkable end. Men who lived like pathetic cowards died like them too.

  Sidra was surprised to be asked about Veronyka, but she quickly recovered. “She was there, but never had a chance to speak. She fled in the chaos, and…” Sidra paused, wary of rebuke. “I don’t know where she went.”

  Veronyka could be any number of places, but with the border being watched and the commander badly hurt, Avalkyra would guess that she hadn’t gone far. That was fine for now. It meant more time at the Eyrie, undisturbed. “What of the situation in Rushlea? The Unnamed?”

  “I stopped there on my way back,” Sidra replied, picking up steam again. “Their leaders are eager to meet with you. They are impatient, greedy, and want independent rule in Pyra most of all. Promise them that, and they will help you any way you see fit.” Avalkyra considered that, preparing to turn away, when Sidra added, “Doriyan followed me from the capital.” She blurted it, as if she’d had to muster the strength to speak the words.

  “Doriyan, Rider of Daxos,” Avalkyra murmured. She had wondered what became of him after she’d tied him up and left him for dead in the mine outside Rushlea. Veronyka or one of the others must have rescued him. “Where is he now?”

  “I gave him the slip in the village,” Sidra said, “but he was always a good tracker. No doubt he followed me here.”

  Avalkyra shrugged. The Phoenix Riders already had scouts watching the Eyrie, so what was one more? They were too distant to report anything of value and hadn’t followed her strixes as they’d flown to Aura—she’d checked with Onyx. Since the strixes had been heading north, away from civilization, the Phoenix Riders hadn’t attempted to stop them or engage. They didn’t know what treasure Aura held, or that her flock had brought some of it back with them.

  “Shall I deal with him?” Sidra asked, attempting to sound bold, to prove her ruthlessness. Sidra was ruthless, generally speaking, except when it came to Doriyan. Even now Avalkyra could sense her conflicted feelings. If she was Sidra’s queen, Doriyan was Sidra’s brother-in-arms. The closest thing to a friend she could ever find and a truer brother than her own family, who had disowned their animage daughter.

  “Not yet,” Avalkyra replied. With her bond to Veronyka silent and impenetrable, Doriyan might be Avalkyra’s best hope of keeping tabs on her and the rest of the Phoenix Riders. “Leave him and the other scouts for now.”

  She turned her focus to Morra. It was time for the woman to earn her keep.

  “Shadowmage,” she said, waving her over and summoning Onyx as well.

  The woman thumped across the cobblestones, gaze fixed on the heap of stonelike eggs that would easily quadruple Avalkyra’s force. Sidra remained nearby, weathering the presence of the strixes for a chance to see her queen’s ambitions come to life.

  “Me and my apex bondmate,” Avalkyra said, pointing at herself and Onyx. “Eggs.” She pointed at the pile. “What comes next?”

  Morra expelled a slow breath, as if steeling herself for a long-winded explanation. “As you may know, one of an apex’s abilities is heartfire.”

  “Is that when they breathe fire?” Avalkyra asked, recalling the scene in Ferro again. The sweltering heat, the raw power against her skin… She wanted it for herself. Desperately.

  “Yes,” Morra said. “Heartfire is a formidable weapon, but it can also be used to incubate eggs. According to the myths, it is the very same fire that burned in the Everlasting Flame, a gift from Axura herself. What you’ve told me about hatching eggs in the absence of that fire, in the smoking ruin of the Everlasting Flame, supports the theory that there will be a corresponding strix ability.”

  They were operating on a theory alone? “And where did you learn this theory?”

  “I was a priestess of Axura before the war. More specifically, a priestess within the Cult of Nox. We studied all manner of philosophies relating to strixes, shadow magic, and the goddess herself.”

  Ilithya certainly knew how to pick her allies and informants. Such cults had been banned well before Avalkyra was born the first time, and the library at the Nest had been purged of anything remotely related to its study or practice. After the Blood War, any mention of Nox and her children had been lost or destroyed, along with everything else.

  “How do we make it, this heartfire?” she asked.

  “In the temple, when we theorized the ability, we called it shadowfire—a bit inaccurate, perhaps, given that it would most certainly not be fire, but…”

  Avalkyra looked at her bondmate, at the swirls of darkness that followed her everywhere, rippling off her feathers. Shadowfire, indeed.

  “As apex, your bondmate would create the force—the shadowfire—but it’s your magic that powers it. Well, yours and your benex.”

  “My what?”

  “Just like an alpha has a beta—or a patrol leader has a second-in-command—an apex pair can only reach their full potential with the aid of a secondary bond, that of the benex pair. In your case, Veronyka and Xephyra.”

  Avalkyra swallowed uneasily, probing her mind again for any trace of the girl. She found none.

  “What you say cannot be true,” she argued. “Ignix used heartfire mere weeks ago in Ferro. Last I checked, Nefyra was dead. Callysta and Cirix were dead.”

  “You know what they say about bonds…,” Morra said with a shrug. “Even death is no match for them. Just because her mates are gone does not mean that Ignix has not kept the bonds alive. In fact, there is evidence to suggest that bonds can be carried within bloodlines, so the fact that Nefyra’s descendants still live could potentially reinforce—”

  “Fine,” Avalkyra cut in, annoyed. Bonds survived death—she knew this—which meant that whatever was happening between her and Veronyka, they still had a bond. “How do we conjure it?”

  “It is called heartfire for a reason,” Morra explained as Avalkyra leapt onto Onyx’s back. “The power coalesces in the breast before exploding up the throat.”

  Avalkyra nodded, sinking deep into her bond with Onyx. Together they reached into their joint well of magic—one that, in theory, connected to Veronyka’s as well—drawing upward, pulling into Onyx’s chest… but they came up with nothing.

  There was a sudden, powerful kickback—a wave of exhaustion, dizziness, and fatigue rolling through her. She gasped, fighting to remain conscious. The feeling was not unlike what it had cost her to force the bind on Ignix, and so Avalkyra assumed it would be only a matter of time until she got it right.

  She straightened in the saddle, gathering her strength. Then she dug deeper, pulled harder, beyond Onyx’s level of comfort… and the next thing she knew, she was sprawled out on the ground, with two humans, her bondmate, and the rest of her flock staring down at her.

  “Are you all right?” Sidra asked, offering a helping hand. Avalkyra refused it and struggled alone to her feet.

  “Yes,” she snapped, before rounding on the shadowmage. “Well? What happened?”

  “I’m not sure,” Morra said, looking away. Her gaze settled on Onyx, who also appeared dazed and disoriented. “It seems as though you tried to draw on your ma
gic alone, and not on your benex as well.…”

  Avalkyra flared her nostrils. Clearly, her bond to Veronyka was failing somehow, and it was preventing Avalkyra from siphoning magic from her.

  It was preventing Avalkyra from moving forward with her plans.

  “Maybe I was,” she conceded. “Maybe I’m having trouble reaching Veronyka… since the spear attack.”

  “I see,” Morra said, expression neutral. “Perhaps she is simply blocking you? I know she’s done it before.…”

  “Not like this. I can’t feel her at all.…” She shook her head. “It’s like she’s disappeared.”

  It had been the singular constant in Avalkyra’s tumultuous second life; through every trial and tribulation, every stumble and setback, one thing had remained: their bond.

  Now it was gone.

  “I can’t say for certain,” Morra began carefully, “but it sounds like a fracture.”

  “And what is that?”

  “A broken or unstable bond. I’d guess your unexpected spear attack the other night caused you both to pull back so forcefully that you’ve caused a fracture in your connection. Such a thing can happen all at once or slowly over time, when bondmates drift apart or have too much physical or emotional distance. A bond requires a certain level of vulnerability, and after what’s happened between you, it seems neither of you is willing to give it.”

  “And a fractured bond won’t produce shadowfire?” Avalkyra demanded, cutting to the heart of the matter.

  Morra shook her head. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “But a bond is stronger than anything in this world and beyond it. It can be fixed. Reach out to her and repair your relationship.”

  Avalkyra had no interest in repairing her relationship with Veronyka. “There must be another way,” she said through gritted teeth.

  The woman deflated slightly, then cast an appraising look at Sidra. “A second human bondmate…”

  “We are not bonded,” Avalkyra said, outraged. “She is my bindmate—a servant, not a second. You have heard of a bind, haven’t you, magical scholar?”

  “A bind, of course. My mistake,” Morra said, chastised. Sidra, meanwhile, projected nothing but sulky disappointment. “Then I’m afraid Veronyka is the only way.”

  Avalkyra snarled and stomped across the cobblestones. Veronyka, the bane of her existence, the thorn in her side, and the chain around her neck. And now, apparently, the person she needed most of all?

  Was it any wonder, any surprise at all, that it would all come down to the two of them? That in order to achieve the height of her power, she would have to go, not around, but through the very person standing in her way? That they would have to do it together?

  She refused to accept it, to give Veronyka that kind of sway over her.

  “Without a human bondmate, without a benex, you will not be able to achieve shadowfire,” Morra continued. She dropped her gaze, looking at the pile of eggs. “You will not be able to grow your horde.”

  Avalkyra curled her lip and called Onyx to her side. “Watch me.”

  All bowed before us. Now I begin to understand the danger of this power.

  - CHAPTER 32 - VERONYKA

  VERONYKA OPENED HER EYES in the darkness of the tent. She was completely disoriented for a second, but then she rolled over into Tristan’s warm body. He was already awake, watching her.

  His contemplative expression turned into an embarrassed smile when he realized he’d been caught staring, but he didn’t stop. She was covered in a blanket against the chill, but his eyes were on the bandage tied across her chest, and his face was… not troubled, exactly, but thoughtful.

  “I suppose you think I’m a fool, allowing myself to get close to her over and over again,” Veronyka said.

  “I’m not sure allowing is the right word,” he said with a frown. He reached out and gently traced a finger along the path of the wound, invisible under the bandages, though she got the sense he’d learned it by heart. “No, I don’t think you’re a fool. The people we love are always the ones best equipped to hurt us.”

  Veronyka knew that truth at a fundamental level, but she realized that Tristan knew it too. The commander wasn’t Val, but Tristan put so much stock in his father’s approval, reaching constantly for external validation he might never get. They disagreed deeply and often, and he understood Veronyka’s struggle to define herself in the face of that conflict.

  “Is there a chance it will happen again? Are you in danger—even now?”

  Veronyka shook her head uncertainly. It was hard to explain. “There’s something wrong with our bond, I think.… I can barely find her in my mind, and I can’t feel her at all.…”

  “Does that mean she’s blocking you?”

  “No, I—she’s blocked me before, for the majority of my life, in fact. But ever since I learned we were bonded, I could feel her. Now it’s almost like the bond is broken, like there’s been a cave-in or something. The door is still there, but nothing’s getting through. Even when I try to—”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he said hastily. “Maybe this break or whatever is your mind protecting itself.”

  Veronyka suspected that wasn’t far off the mark. She hated to feel cut off—it was too similar to the way she’d blocked her magic before—but she couldn’t deny the sensation of safety it gave her. Yes, the attack had caused a knee-jerk reaction, but they’d been heading in this direction for months. Bonds were built on trust, after all, and the goodwill between them was all but spent. It was no wonder their connection had fallen apart.

  They lay in silence for a while. Veronyka never wanted to leave this tent, but daylight was creeping through the canvas, lightening the shadows, and she knew they’d have to face the real world again soon.

  “So, speaking of shadow magic… I’m assuming this is okay now?” His hand moved from her bandage, sliding along the bare skin of her back instead.

  “What, sleeping together?” Veronyka asked innocently.

  “I wasn’t referring to the sleep,” Tristan said dryly. “You’re not blocking your shadow magic anymore? Not worried about”—he waved his hand in the air—“eye contact… physical contact? I thought they were off-limits. I thought the bond between us was a bad thing.”

  Veronyka shook her head vehemently. “That’s more nonsense Val fed me growing up. She wanted me weak, so she taught me wrong from the start. Held me back and made me afraid of my own power. I should have figured it out sooner—whatever Val believed, I should do the opposite.”

  Tristan chuckled at that. “It’s not that I’m complaining,” he said, dropping a kiss to her neck and lingering there, lips moving against her skin. “I just want you to be safe.”

  “Not hiding from it anymore is the best way. I’m actually learning my magic and not just suppressing it.” She thought of Morra with a pang. “Well, at least I was. Morra was helping me, but now…” Veronyka pushed the hurt aside. If Morra had indeed betrayed her—betrayed them all—then, well, there was no point thinking about it. “I know more than I ever have, and the rest I’ll have to learn along the way. If I’m going to possess this power, it’s my responsibility to understand it. For my safety, of course, but also for others. I relied on ignorance before, but I can’t any longer.”

  It reminded her of the throne. To hide from the power and responsibility inherent in her birthright was to be irresponsible. Like a sword in her hands or the magic in her veins, Veronyka must learn to wield that power with caution and care.

  “Besides, my bond to her is one thing—but my bond to you is something else. It’s a part of me, like my bond with Xephyra. I’d rather die than be without either.”

  A burst of joy welled up inside Tristan, and Veronyka was glad that she no longer had to pretend not to feel it. He squeezed her so tightly it hurt.

  “I guess it’s not all bad, then,” he said, still smiling so wide his dimples showed. “What you did in that dungeon in Stel? That was pretty amazing.”

  “Speaking of th
at…,” Veronyka said, picking absently at a thread in the blanket. “Just because I’ve decided I’m okay with using my magic now doesn’t mean you have to be okay with it. We can set boundaries that you’re comfortable with—”

  “I’m comfortable,” he interrupted.

  “And I’ll always ask permission before—”

  “You never have to ask with me.”

  He said it bluntly, he said it simply, and she felt the truth of it even as her heart clenched at the trust in it.

  She rolled toward him and buried her face in his chest.

  This was her burden to bear—this magic, this sister, this legacy in her blood. But it was nice, sometimes, to feel like she wasn’t so very much alone.

  * * *

  When they exited the tent, Alexiya was sitting in front of the rekindled fire, cooking breakfast. She positively beamed at them.

  “Sleep well?” she asked wickedly, eyebrows wagging, and Veronyka wanted to glower, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Tristan looked appropriately flustered, though, which Veronyka enjoyed almost as much as Alexiya.

  “Yes, thank you,” he muttered, moving forward to fuss with the kettle.

  “I sent updates to Prosperity and to Stel last night, as we discussed,” Alexiya continued more seriously, standing and stretching. “I’ll be meeting your patrol tonight and escorting them here, to ensure they arrive safely.”

  “Perfect,” Tristan said. He glanced up at the treehouse.

  “Hestia is sleeping,” Alexiya said, nodding to one of the other tents, “but she said that your father is still stable and in a medically induced sleep. My mother watches him, and…” She trailed off, staring blankly over Veronyka’s shoulder. Veronyka turned, following her gaze.

  A man stood there. He looked wary, hands deep in his pockets. “Hi, Lexi.”

  Lexi. Veronyka had never heard that nickname before. When she turned back to her aunt, it was to see Alexiya’s face had gone hard.