Because even if they won this war—or stopped it altogether—the ills of the world wouldn’t end there. Bad things happened before, during, and after war. It had been seventeen years since the Blood War, and still innocent people bled for the Ashfire queens.
Veronyka might want to convince herself she could temporarily take the position as heir, hold the throne like a placeholder until she was no longer needed… but she knew now that time would never come. Animages and Phoenix Riders, people inside the empire and beyond—they all deserved better. If she didn’t give it to them, who would? When could she ever truly walk away from this?
She halted in her tracks, realizing for the first time that maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe the crown wasn’t just some burden to bear. Maybe it was a chance. She wanted to be a protector.… What better, greater way than that?
If it was up to her to claim her throne and the empire for herself, it was also up to her to stop Val, and Veronyka wasn’t sure she knew how to handle one without damaging her chances at the other. There was war coming on two fronts, and no matter what direction Veronyka faced, the responsibility lay with her.
If she came forward now, underage and without any actual proof of her identity, she might succeed in delaying the empire’s march, but she’d also be forced to spend days—weeks? months?—in Aura Nova searching for her birth certificate, winning over politicians, and establishing order.
That fight—the political fight—would take her away from the Phoenix Riders, and more importantly, it would take her away from Val. What damage might Val inflict in that time? She had already stolen the Eyrie away while Veronyka was distracted. Would she take all of Pyra? Would she claim it, or destroy it instead? Val had torn the world apart back when she cared about the pieces. Now Veronyka feared there was nothing she cared about at all.
Except, perhaps, for Veronyka herself.
Who would be able to stop Val if not her? But if Veronyka focused on Val alone, the empire would march unchecked into Pyra. They could wreak enough damage on their own, without Val’s interference.
But while the commander was better equipped to deal with the empire and the political machinations required to get her onto the throne, there was no one better suited than Veronyka to take down Val.
She wasn’t the best fighter or flyer—she and Xephyra were young and green compared to some of the other Phoenix Riders—but she was the only one with shadow magic and the only one who was bonded to Val. Only she could discover Val’s plans. Only she could wield the same dark magic that controlled Val’s shadowy flock.
Veronyka had to find a way to use this to her advantage.
To use Val to her advantage. But how?
Gravel crunched behind her, drawing Veronyka from her thoughts. She sensed Tristan before she heard his voice.
“Veronyka. Wait.”
She halted midstep, registering her surroundings for the first time. She hadn’t stormed back to camp, where their tents were set up, but down the path toward her grandmother’s house.
Tristan came to a stop next to her. “Are you okay?”
“It’s been two days,” she said by way of a response.
He understood at once. “According to Fallon’s last report, she hasn’t left the Eyrie. Until she does…”
“I hate this.”
“I know. Waiting is—”
“It’s not that.” Veronyka crossed her arms over her chest, staring into the shadowy trees, unseeing. “It feels like before. Back when… I’ve always been afraid of her.” She darted a self-conscious look at him, but his expression was warm and understanding. “Even before I knew who she truly was and what she was capable of. I was afraid to step out of line, to do something wrong.…” She swallowed thickly, aching for the child she had been. “Sometimes, it felt like the shadow magic was a punishment. Another way for me to fail, another way for her to hurt me.”
Tristan reached for her, intending to pull her into a hug, but Veronyka swiped at her eyes and shook her head. She didn’t need or want comfort. “But now I see it all for what it really is—exactly what I need to defeat her. I’m not afraid anymore.”
“Well, I am,” he said flatly, and Veronyka couldn’t help but chuckle. He seemed pleased by that, sliding a thumb across her cheek to capture a trailing tear, but the smile quirking his lips flattened out. “But I’m not asking you to wait because I doubt you. I know what you’re capable of—but I guess that’s the problem. I’m more afraid of what you’ll do… what you think you’ll need to do to save the rest of us from her.”
Veronyka took a shaky breath. That was… Well, she didn’t know what to say to that. She would do almost anything to stop Val. Where the line was, she wasn’t quite sure, and she could understand how that might scare him.
She wouldn’t want him risking his life for her, but she would do the same without a moment’s hesitation. She looked guiltily up at him.
“Tristan…”
The soft thud of footsteps on wood echoed over to them, and Veronyka realized they were nearer to her grandmother’s house than she’d thought.
“Lexi,” came a sharp voice—Theryn’s, pitched low, but still carrying in the quiet night. Another pair of footsteps joined the first, and Veronyka blinked upward, realizing that Theryn was chasing Alexiya down the stairs.
She could hardly see anything in the darkness, but two silhouettes were visible, illuminated by the soft light spilling out from the windows above.
“Stop calling me that—I’m not a kid anymore,” Alexiya said crossly.
“Where are you going?” he asked. They had reached the ground now, though they were still a good fifty paces away from Veronyka and Tristan and had yet to notice they had an audience.
“Where do you think?”
“Let your commander deal with it. There’s no need to go running off in the middle of the night. You know they’ll want to jump on their saddles and take off. They’re young. They’re—”
“They’re warriors, Theryn. They’ll do what they have to do.”
“They don’t have to do anything!” he said in frustration—Veronyka had never heard him raise his voice before. “They’re safe here. She’s safe.”
Alexiya stopped short. “We’re in the middle of a war. There is no safety, not for someone like her.”
Her. They were clearly talking about Veronyka.
“You could be safe here too. You all could.”
“Don’t pretend you care about my safety,” Alexiya said scathingly. “In case you’ve forgotten, we were on opposite sides of the last war. You didn’t care that I might die. You just cared that I might die for the wrong queen.”
Ringing silence followed those words.
“You’re wrong,” Theryn said quietly. “I never gave a damn about Ashfire queens. I loved a girl, Lexi, and she was carrying my child. Up until three days ago, I thought I had failed them both. Lost them forever.” His voice broke on the words, raw emotion drenching every syllable. “But by some miracle, she’s here, she’s alive, and I cannot, will not, lose her again.”
Alexiya sighed heavily. “You might not care that they’re Ashfires, Theryn—but they are. She can’t walk away from this.”
“Yes, she can—”
“But I won’t.” Veronyka stepped out of the shadowy path and into the clearing where Alexiya and Theryn stood. She could just make out their faces in the dappled moonlight. She turned to her father. “You might not like it, but this is my war—my fight. There is no walking away. And even if there was, I wouldn’t.”
He looked at her for a long time. “You sound just like her,” he announced at last, his tone half awe, half agony. “Just because you were born to that bloodline does not mean you have to make up for their mistakes. Or pay for them with your life.”
“I have no intention of dying,” she said reasonably, though a dull ache had begun to build behind her chest. It felt something like guilt.
“She didn’t either,” he said softly. “No one ever does.”
“I am not her,” Veronyka said, her voice wavering as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She had said this to Val before. Why was she always having to say it? “You can’t undo the past. You can’t bring her back.”
He recoiled at that. “I’m not trying to bring her back,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m asking you to stay.”
Veronyka’s throat tightened. She’d cherished these past days with her father and grandmother and aunt—this chance to be a family together—but she’d always known it was temporary. She’d assumed he’d known it too.
And though part of her was happy that he wanted her to stay, she also hated that he’d ask it of her in the first place. She fought against the sinking realization that he didn’t actually know her at all.
“I can’t,” Veronyka said, the words coming out clipped. It didn’t matter what news Alexiya bore or how urgently they had to leave—they would have to leave, one way or another. Veronyka had just found the strength to accept herself and who she was—with all the power and responsibility that came with it—and she couldn’t allow her father’s request to weaken her resolve. To make her doubt herself.
“You underestimate her,” Tristan said, moving to stand next to Veronyka. “She doesn’t fight because she thinks she has to.” He looked down at her, fierce pride in his eyes. “She was fighting long before she was a Phoenix Rider, an Ashfire, or an heir to the throne. She fights because it’s who she is, because she would never stand aside and let the people she loves come to harm.”
Veronyka’s chest swelled at his praise. Tristan knew her—better than anyone—and she was humbled at the vision of herself through his eyes. She straightened her spine, doing her best to be the person he thought she was.
She turned to her aunt. “What’s happened?”
Alexiya sighed, staring down at a letter in her hands. “She’s gone.”
“Who?” Veronyka asked unnecessarily. Who else?
“Avalkyra. She’s left the Eyrie.”
But power over the many does not come without cost for the few. Every defeat, every death… Nefyra suffered for it. I suffered for it. Will she suffer too?
- CHAPTER 40 - AVALKYRA
AVALKYRA AND SIDRA FLEW to Rushlea.
The Unnamed were spread all over Pyra, but several of their leaders were situated in the village, and Avalkyra intended to meet with them. She decided against bringing her flock, knowing they might cause more panic than good and that Onyx would be intimidating enough.
Besides, the entire point of this operation was to lure Veronyka into a face-to-face confrontation, and Avalkyra wanted to keep the size and scale of her horde a secret. At least for now. She was also certain that if she were surrounded by her strixes, Veronyka would insist on flying here in force, or not at all.
And that simply would not do.
Avalkyra had a bond to repair, and such a thing could be done only through touch, proximity, and eye contact. They were what made magic possible—what made bonding possible. There was no bond without extended time spent together. Emotionally, yes, but also physically. One could not develop a magical bond through letters and good intentions, after all. Even the apex group bond, which seemed to defy many of these rules, required Avalkyra’s and Onyx’s presence so the strixes could prostrate themselves and allow the connection to take hold.
With their bond fractured, Veronyka was a weak link or a loose thread, but if they reconnected and reopened their bond, there was a chance Veronyka could become so much more. If Avalkyra said the right words and made the right threats, she could have everything she’d ever wanted.
But if she failed… Veronyka could become apex herself and command a force of her own.
If she failed… she would have to get rid of Veronyka entirely.
“My queen, I do not wish to speak out of turn—”
“Then don’t,” Avalkyra said disinterestedly.
They had landed on the outskirts of town and were making their way to the agreed-upon meeting place—an old, dilapidated barn. Apparently, some of the villagers were actually helping the Unnamed hide in their basements and cellars; meanwhile, the Phoenix Riders kept sending aid and support in the face of their looting and attacks. There were apprentices stationed here even now. The village was divided, but Avalkyra would handle that. She would handle everything.
“Why bother?” Sidra blurted. Avalkyra paused, tilting her head to look at her. The bind was still in place, her loyalty unquestioned. But this outburst came from somewhere deep, some well of resolve and resistance Avalkyra hadn’t known existed. She poked at it, peeling back the layers, but all she could find was fervent devotion and a powerful, though not unsurprising, hatred of Veronyka. Sidra’s jealousy wasn’t romance—she liked her women buxom and blond—but something closer to hero worship. Avalkyra was in her head, after all, and knew her adoration was purely platonic, but that didn’t make it any less foolish.
With or without Veronyka, Sidra could never command Avalkyra’s attention or affection.
“Speak plainly,” Avalkyra ordered, and Sidra obeyed.
“You do not need a benex. You are powerful on your own and in control of the largest flock in the world. You need not lower yourself to reasoning with her. She is unworthy of your efforts. Would it not be better—easier—to kill her outright? I would do it gladly—”
“You will not,” Avalkyra snapped. “She is mine to deal with. Mine. Do not speak unless spoken to, and do not presume to tell me where I should expend my efforts.”
Sidra walked the remaining distance to the door in silence. It was a roiling, simmering silence, but she knew better than to speak.
Before they could knock, footsteps sounded from inside the building. The door creaked open, a beam of lantern light slicing through the darkness. The glow illuminated archers poised in the rafters above, their weapons trained on the newcomers.
Avalkyra had expected such a reception, which was why they’d dismounted around the bend and approached on foot.
“Two things,” she said, before the man could speak or usher them inside. “Your lookouts will leave their weapons by the door or I will remove them by force.”
The man glanced to Sidra, then back to Avalkyra. He nodded, waving to his people to lower their crossbows. He hesitated on the threshold. “That’s one thing. What about the second?”
“There will be an additional member to our party.”
At that, Onyx descended from the sky in a rush of wind, silent and terrifying. She landed in a crouch, crest tall and wing feathers spiked outward—like a predator ready to pounce.
The man cried out, staggering backward into the building, and Avalkyra followed in his wake.
Keep watch, she ordered Sidra, leaving room for Onyx to enter and slamming the door behind them.
Avalkyra strode into the center of the room, quite at her leisure, while Onyx followed more slowly. The strix had to crouch to fit under the doorframe, but when she straightened to her full and impressive height, her plumage gleaming in the flickering glow of the lanterns, the people inside gasped in fear. They backed against the walls, stumbling over benches and hay bales, giving Avalkyra and her bondmate the floor.
After sticking her beak into the corners and poking around the barn, Onyx took to the rafters, scuttling like a beetle over a branch. The lookouts who had been poised there rushed to climb down, half falling to the ground and dropping their weapons by the door.
“Does anyone speak for you?” she demanded of the silent room.
Eventually, two people stepped forward—a man and a woman. “We represent the Rushlean faction of the Unnamed, but we have people all over Pyra.”
Avalkyra nodded. “I hear you dislike the empire. I dislike the empire as well.” She strode around the room, her boots crunching on straw, but otherwise all was silent. “I hear you dislike Phoenix Riders.… In that, we are also agreed.”
“But you’re one of ’em,” someone interjected from the back of the crowd. The others pa
rted to look at him, and he faltered, his gaze darting up to Onyx before he added, “Aren’t you?”
“I was one of them… and they betrayed me. Scarred me”—she gestured to her face—“and left me for dead.”
“So what? Just because we dislike these interlopers doesn’t mean we can stop them,” said the female leader, her arms crossed and her expression unimpressed. “The empire is mustering along the border as we speak. We nabbed one of their scouts—he’s in the cellar. He says they’re intending to march any day.”
Avalkyra had suspected as much but hadn’t had any new updates since Sidra was last in the capital. An empire scout could be very useful.… “And Phoenix Riders rule our skies, unapologetic and unchallenged.”
“Not for long,” Avalkyra said, her words hard. “I am master of a different kind of flock. I have a horde of strixes under my command. You are Pyraeans; you know your history. If phoenixes are Axura’s so-called warriors of light, then we are Nox’s servants instead. Whatever they stand for—empire rule, soldiers in your villages, and Riders patrolling your skies—then we are the opposite. I intend to use my considerable strength to stop both the empire and the Phoenix Riders… violently. I have no interest in peace treaties or alliances. I am interested in blood and redemption, and in a free and independent Pyra.”
After all, there wouldn’t be an empire once Avalkyra was done. She would tear it all down, brick by brick, monument by monument, until only the ashes remained.
You are the ashes, the dregs.… You’re what’s left.
They looked excited, eager, afraid. Like they wanted to cry her name or fall to their knees. Like they wanted to run and hide but didn’t dare.
Avalkyra lifted her chin, surveying the group with her best imperious stare. “But first, I’ll need your help.”
* * *
Back outside, Sidra waited in the darkness, her shoulders pulled tight in an uneasy line.
Wings of Shadow Page 35
