“Something…,” Sparrow muttered, trying to understand. “Something was reaching back.”
Not something, but someone. Come, Ignix said, lurching to her feet and shaking out her wings. We must fly to the Eyrie at once.
It could bring all the world together, this magic… and it could tear all the world apart.
- CHAPTER 44 - VERONYKA
THE SUN WAS SETTING as they approached Rushlea, turning the River Aurys to a stream of molten gold—as its name indicated—and setting the rooftops of the village ablaze with brilliant light.
Everything looked so peaceful, Veronyka was tempted to be lulled into the easy contentment of soaring through the sky with Xephyra. But before the shimmering vision could truly take shape, she reminded herself that Val was in that village. There would be nothing peaceful about this night.
The patrol parted ways with Tristan just north of Vayle, but first they landed at Queen Malka’s outpost to iron out the details of their plan.
Latham was, rightly so, concerned about his brother.
“Do you know which apprentices are there?” he asked before they’d even sat down.
“No,” Veronyka said. “All the commander knew was that several of the older apprentices had been sent to Rushlea.” She didn’t say the rest—that besides Kade, who was in Arboria, Loran was the oldest Apprentice Rider in their flock. He must be there.
Latham didn’t respond, but his jaw was clenched tight enough to make the muscles jump.
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she assured him, turning to the others. “The mine has two entrances: Ronyn and Lysandro can watch the north, and Latham and Anders can watch the south. You should be able to bottleneck any Unnamed that are hiding inside and keep them there. Tristan will be on lookout at the Eyrie to ensure Avalkyra’s flock stays put.”
“But if they do leave… how will you warn us in time?” Anders asked, frowning.
Tristan glanced at Veronyka.
“I’ll use shadow magic,” she said bluntly. No time like the present to put all her cards on the table.
“Shadow magic,” Ronyn repeated uncertainly. “I didn’t think it was real.”
“It’s real and it’s rare,” Tristan said. “Veronyka has it… and Avalkyra has it too.”
“But what does it do?” asked Latham, looking between them.
Veronyka lifted her chin at Tristan. He was probably better at explaining it than she was.
“She can talk to you inside your head,” he explained. “Use words and images… and she can understand your thoughts in turn.”
“That’s… oh,” Anders said, struggling for his usual nonchalance.
“It saved my life,” Tristan said. “Veronyka knew I wasn’t in that wagon headed to the Spine because she could connect with Sev, and he told her the truth. She rescued me from Rolan’s dungeon because she could sense where I was and I could talk her through the underground passages.”
Silence descended, and though it was tense—Veronyka could read minds, and that was enough to make anyone on edge—it was also tinged with something close to wonder. Maybe even respect. She was something more to them now, and as such, their confidence in her and this plan grew.
Tristan smiled proudly. He couldn’t sense what she could, but Veronyka suspected he had said all he’d said hoping for such a result.
“Suffice it to say,” he finished, “if the strixes mobilize, Veronyka will know as soon as I do.”
As Tristan headed west and Veronyka and the others headed north, she felt the gap opening between them with every beat of Xephyra’s wings. Though her heart still ached with the memory of their weeks apart, she was desperately glad to have him nowhere near Val. If everything went wrong, at least he would be safe. For now.
Everything could not go wrong.
Still with me? he asked her—as he had done every few minutes since they’d parted. He was the only person she could reach at such a distance, the only person who could tell her if the strixes were coming to Rushlea.
He was an invaluable part of the plan, and she didn’t want Val to know where he was or what he was doing.
Yes, Veronyka said, as she had done every time, but we’re close to town. We can’t talk anymore.
He understood. I’ll see you on the other side.
Unless something bad happened, of course.
Tristan? she said softly, and she sensed his attention sharpen.
Yes?
I love you, she said.
Warmth blossomed in his chest, radiating from their bond. I never get tired of hearing that, he said. Tell me again?
I love you, she said, smiling.
He beamed. I love you too.
As Veronyka and the rest of the patrol neared the village perimeter, they split again. While the others made for the entrances to the mine, using the growing darkness as cover and taking up their positions, Veronyka sought out Val.
It was strange not to know where she was—not to sense her impatience or feel her presence. It should have been a relief, but it seemed only to amplify the tension growing inside her. Val could be anywhere, planning anything, and Veronyka would be none the wiser.
Luckily, she didn’t have to look long.
Val became visible almost immediately, standing in the middle of the village square, watching Veronyka’s approach.
Torches lined the streets, flickering in the evening breeze, but otherwise, the village was deserted. Veronyka sensed people, though—dozens of them, holed up inside the buildings that lined the road or pacing restlessly at the edges of town.
She saw no sign of a struggle as she came to land before Val; nor did she see any of the Unnamed roaming the streets or guarding entrances. Were they all inside the mine, then? Or were some of them in these very buildings, holding their occupants hostage? Sidra, too, was conspicuously absent.
Veronyka carefully dismounted, and since Val was without her bondmate, she told Xephyra to take up a perch atop the nearby buildings.
Stay alert, she warned, and Xephyra croaked in response.
Then Veronyka was alone and unprotected in the middle of the street, save for a knife strapped to her belt and a quiver strapped to her back. Even her bow remained on Xephyra’s saddle.
Val looked like some sort of gaunt specter in the waning twilight: Strands of her uneven red hair poked out from under a hood, blowing ragged in the breeze, and her skin was waxen and mottled with burns. Her clothes—and whatever weapons she might be carrying—were obscured by a long black cloak trailing across the ground.
“Hello, xe Nyka.” Val smiled, wide and wolfish, her dark eyes reflecting the torchlight. And then she pulled down her hood.
She was wearing a crown.
But this circlet was not wrought of phoenix feathers shining bright as the dawn. No, these feathers were black as charcoal, and smears of inky blood trailed down her forehead, as if the quills had been torn from their host rather than cast off naturally.
The sight was so jarring that Veronyka took a step backward. Val looked like an entirely different person, distant and untouchable, but no matter how much Veronyka hated this version of her, she couldn’t deny that Val was still beautiful, still awe-inspiring. Perhaps more so.
She looked impressive. Powerful. And yet… it also looked like armor, like a costume. Somehow ill fitting. Val had gotten thinner, Veronyka realized. There was something brittle about her now, something worn out. Like logs that had burned in the fire too long, like steel beaten too thin.
It made a chill slip down Veronyka’s spine. This was the Avalkyra Ashfire of Veronyka’s wildest imaginings, the warrior she had spent the majority of her life idolizing—powerful, fierce, and yet twisted into a darker version of herself.
A nightmare version. All sharp angles and spiky intention, her very presence like barbs against Veronyka’s skin.
“I see you received my message,” Val said smugly, enjoying Veronyka’s apparent speechlessness. “Once a lapdog, always a lapdog.”
S
he must mean Doriyan. “I did, and I’m here,” Veronyka said curtly. “Now tell me what you want.”
Any reluctance to speak on her part was only liable to make Val talk more, and that was exactly what Veronyka needed. She glanced around surreptitiously—as if looking for danger—but in fact trying to catch a glimpse of the setting sun. The orb was flame-bright and sinking lower by the second, but Veronyka had to keep Val occupied until it fully disappeared.
Her patrol members had agreed that they would be in position by the time the sun dipped below the distant peaks of Pyrmont, and she didn’t dare reach for them to check lest Val sense the magic. Their bond might be all but gone, but she was still a shadowmage, and sharply attuned to its use.
“What, no pleasantries for me?” Val asked, a theatrical pout on her face. “No dire warnings?” She took several steps closer but remained a good ten paces away. “It’s as if you barely missed me at all.”
Veronyka snorted at that, relieved that Val had taken up the chance to needle her a bit longer. “I wasn’t a fan of your parting gift,” she said, gesturing to the line Val’s spear had cut down her middle. “Maybe some time apart is exactly what we needed.”
The sun gilded the edges of the mountain with one last burst of golden light, then disappeared, leaving a blushing indigo sky in its wake. Veronyka shifted and rested a hand on her belt—the opposite side from her dagger. Val followed the movement but lost interest when she saw the weapon was still out of reach—of course, that was not the weapon Veronyka needed to get to. The commander’s cane was strapped to her quiver, the butt of the weapon sitting flush against her back. A few inches away from her hand.
“Time apart,” Val scoffed. “We are not sweethearts in a lover’s quarrel. You and I are bound together—by blood and birth… and by magic. There is no denying that power or hiding from it.”
“It hasn’t been so powerful lately,” Veronyka mused. “Our bond is weak, Val. Broken. Perhaps beyond repair.”
Val’s entire being sharpened at Veronyka’s words. For whatever reason, she didn’t like this problem with their bond… this malfunctioning connection. Veronyka could think of a thousand reasons why she might wish to repair it, ranging from finishing what she’d started with her spear to spying on the Phoenix Riders and figuring out their plans, but she wouldn’t know for sure until Val wanted her to know.
“A bond cannot be so easily severed, xe Nyka. You should know that better than most.”
She was talking about Xephyra. About death. If the bond survived that, perhaps there was no destroying it entirely.
“I thought I had already reached the height of my powers,” Val continued, “but I was wrong. Only with you by my side can I do that.”
It sounded like more of Val’s typical nonsense—they were better together; they should rule side by side—but there was a glint in her eye that made the words sound more dangerous than ever before. The height of her powers… What did that mean? She clearly didn’t mean political or physical power, but something magical. She was already bonded to the apex strix, with a flock at her disposal. How much more powerful could she get?
“But,” she said with obvious relish, “we will not be able to rebuild what is broken between us if we cannot trust each other.…”
Footsteps echoed from behind her, and Veronyka turned carefully—never letting Val out of her sight. Her stomach dropped. Latham was being led into the street, a knife pressed to his throat. Beside him was his brother, Loran. Latham must have abandoned his post and gone looking for him. Veronyka frowned. The people who held him and his brother captive… they were familiar.
Not angry Rushlean farmers, not raiders or bandits, but villagers—people who had attended her meeting here with Doriyan not ten days before.
The truth of it hit her square in the chest. Val didn’t need lawless bandits to hold the villagers hostage. They were more than willing to play the part themselves. Latham was red-faced and frantic, but he stared at her with wide, pleading eyes. Save my brother. Please, save my brother.
Veronyka couldn’t help the furious look of betrayal she sent the villagers’ way, but she bit back her anger and refocused. This was Val’s doing. She had likely threatened them, forcefully, into helping her. Even without her flock, Avalkyra Ashfire astride a strix would be enough to scare most people into obedience.
As Val ordered them to keep their knives on their captives, Veronyka threw caution to the wind and sought out Anders, whom Latham had left behind.
He was not alone, as she’d expected. No, he was surrounded outside the cave mouth, with a dozen villagers pointing pitchforks and makeshift spears at him. A quick hop over to Ronyn and Lysandro showed the same.
“I asked you to come alone, Veronyka,” Val said, taking slow, measured steps toward her. “And you have not.”
“You also told me the villagers would pay if I didn’t turn up—clearly, they were never in danger.”
Val stopped midstride. “Oh, yes they were—still are,” she said softly, and Veronyka sensed the people holding Latham and Loran stiffen and stare at her in confusion. Fools to have trusted her. But then again, Veronyka was just as guilty. This was exactly how Val always got what she wanted—by constantly changing the game and bending the rules. By being more ruthless and cunning than Veronyka could ever hope to be.
Her fingers twitched at her side.
“What do you want?” she asked again, this time through clenched teeth. “Doriyan said you wanted to discuss terms.”
Up on the rooftop, Xephyra shuffled nearer to Veronyka, anxious and on edge. Veronyka wondered where Val’s strix was.
Val continued walking. She was close now, too close for Veronyka to be able to withdraw her weapon and get off a clean shot. And if she failed, she risked not only her own life, but Latham’s and Loran’s as well.
She considered moving backward, putting distance between them, but she also wanted Val to finally say what this was all about.
“I want peace between us, Veronyka. I want to forge a new, stronger connection.”
Whatever Val said, this wasn’t about real peace. This was about something else.
The height of my powers… a new, stronger connection.
Their bond was broken, and Val wanted to fix it. But why? To what end?
Val moved closer. One step, and another. Alarm bells sounded in Veronyka’s head. Val would surely strike her, lash out and hurt her. Try to force her to do… something.
“We are sisters—in all the ways that count,” Val continued, when Veronyka opened her mouth to argue. “Take my hand, embrace me as family, and I will spare them.”
Val extended her arm.
The alarm bells inside reached a fever pitch, so loud and insistent that Veronyka turned her attention inward and realized the warning wasn’t coming from her own mind at all, but from someone else’s.
Tristan.
There’s a reason power, like magic, is not given to everyone.
- CHAPTER 45 - TRISTAN
THE EYRIE WAS IN Tristan’s sights before the sun set.
He spoke with the Rider who was patrolling the area, confirming there had been no new activity. Then he took up a stationary watch outside their former base.
If things went the way Tristan hoped, Veronyka would be done with her plan before the night was through, and they could resume regular patrols on the next shift. In fact, if things went better than he hoped, they might be retaking the Eyrie by this time tomorrow, the empire marching back where they belonged with Avalkyra as their prisoner.
The impulse to reach for Veronyka surged up then, but Tristan squashed it. He didn’t want to distract her or flood the bond with useless worrying. He wouldn’t contact her unless there was something she needed to know.
But when two phoenixes soared up out of the darkness near the way station and made straight for the Eyrie, Tristan’s resolve was tested.
Were there other Riders out on patrol? But why on earth would they fly into the Eyrie, when there was
a flock of strixes still inside? Or had Val somehow found more Phoenix Rider allies?
Whatever was happening, he had to check it out. If the strixes were attacked or provoked, they might go to Val on their own, or burst forth with aimless, destructive rage—like a kicked hornet’s nest. But he wouldn’t contact Veronyka before he knew exactly what was happening.
Adrenaline spiking in his veins, Tristan drew his bow and nocked an arrow.
Better not ignite just yet, he told Rex, who was fairly trembling beneath him with pent-up energy.
Tristan didn’t want to draw attention to himself, especially if these Riders weren’t friendly. But as Rex looped around and approached the village from the east, unease built inside him. Mirroring with his bondmate for a closer look, Tristan expected to see the infamous black shadowbirds around every corner—but the village was empty.
Perhaps they were simply cloistered in the Eyrie. The place was built for roosting, after all. But where had those Phoenix Riders gone?
As Rex soared past the empty village, Tristan caught movement inside the courtyard of the stronghold. Many of the buildings were damaged, with smashed windows, broken beams of wood, and crumbling stonework, just as Kade had described. It looked like an abandoned battlefield, which is exactly what it was.
As they drew nearer, Rex tensed, heat building beneath his wings while he scanned the sky, but Tristan’s gaze was fixed on two figures on the cobblestones—one was small and pale-haired, while the other had long, dark braids and a leg that was amputated just below the knee.… Morra.
A third figure appeared then, rushing out of the gaping double doors that led into the dining hall, their arms laden.
Before Tristan could call out, Rex threw his wings wide, bringing them to such an abrupt halt that Tristan almost fell from the saddle.
He’d barely righted himself when another phoenix surged up before them, crying out a warning so loud it rang in his ears. She was truly massive, her feathers long and dark purple on the ends.
She was also familiar.
Wings of Shadow Page 39
