Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  Ott hitched up his trousers, as if preparing for the real work to begin. Jotham was his usual partner in crime—in this case, literally—and stood just behind Ott as the line of llamas started to move past them.

  Sev knew what “checkin’ things out” meant. The empire might have forgiven their felonies so they could serve in the military, but Jotham and Ott were career criminals. They didn’t break the law to survive. They did it because they enjoyed it—and because it allowed them to fill their purses above and beyond a soldier’s meager salary. They were “innocent” men now, their criminal records expunged and their previous misdeeds forgotten. There were dozens like them in the military, and as long as they didn’t steal from their commanding officers and fellow soldiers, no one seemed to care what they did. Jotham and Ott often chose a green soldier like Sev to act as a lookout or an accomplice because they thought young, untried soldiers were too stupid to understand what they were doing.

  Sev enjoyed a good theft as much as any poor street rat, but it was one thing to cut a rich merchant’s purse and quite another to steal from a run-down cottage with broken shutters. These weren’t the kind of people who had excess anything.

  And what if the cabin wasn’t empty, as they expected?

  Sev knew what.

  Violence.

  “You, mageslave,” Ott barked, directing his words at the nearest bondservant—the one who’d seen Sev’s heel skid through llama dung. The term “mageslave” was a disrespectful slur, and the sound of it made Sev cringe. He glanced at the bondservant, but the boy didn’t react to the insult—save for a tightening in his shoulders. “Bring up the rear. I don’t want any stragglers.”

  Jotham joined Ott, and the two men disappeared through the trees.

  Sev hesitated, looking at the bondservant again. “Sorry about him,” he muttered.

  “Excuse me?” the bondservant said. Sev had never heard him speak before; his voice was a low rumble, as if it came from deep inside his chest.

  “It’s just . . . They shouldn’t use that word.”

  The bondservant stared at Sev for several silent heartbeats, as if trying to determine the tone of Sev’s apology—if it was mocking or genuine. Most soldiers didn’t bother speaking to bondservants, and certainly none of them would dream of saying sorry.

  At last the bondservant snorted, almost in disbelief, chin falling to his chest as he shook his head. “The word’s not the problem, soldier. It doesn’t matter if he called me ‘slave’ or ‘sir.’ What I am is the problem.”

  He was right, of course. The only difference between Sev and this bondservant was that he had been caught using his magic and Sev had not. Magic had always been a part of the empire—for some people it was like breathing. How was it okay to make existing illegal? It wasn’t, and as a soldier, Sev was complicit in the injustice.

  Sev didn’t know what to say, and remembering Ott’s order, he stifled his guilt and stepped through the line of trees, leaving the bondservant behind. He took up a position at the edge of the clearing, around the side of the house and away from the front door. He didn’t want to see what happened inside.

  The full heat of the sun pounded down on him, and the faint smell of woodsmoke—tainted with something bitter and unsettling—flavored the air. A bead of sweat trickled down Sev’s forehead, and his leather-padded tunic stuck to his dampened back.

  As Jotham and Ott walked closer and closer to the cottage, the silence pressed in, like the forest held its breath while it marked their passing. It was unnatural. Ever since they’d crossed the border of the empire a week back, Sev had been overwhelmed by the sound of the wilderness. He was used to the noise of Aura Nova, where his senses were overloaded with shouts and cries and rolling wagon wheels. But here in Pyra—the Freelands, the Pyraeans liked to call it—the noise wasn’t noise at all. It was music, lyrical and lilting and somehow falling into a rhythm that set his mind at ease and soothed his weary soul. The sounds reminded him of his childhood on the farm, when life was small and simple and safe.

  How he longed for it.

  Something brushed against Sev’s fingers, and he whirled around to find one of the llamas next to him, butting its head against his hand in a comforting sort of way. There were two others lingering nearby, along with the bondservant, who had apparently chosen to follow Sev into the clearing rather than keep up with the convoy, as he was supposed to.

  Sev pushed the llama aside, more gruffly than he wanted to, but he had to keep up the appearance that he was disinterested in animals. Even regular human affection might be mistaken as magic these days, and Sev couldn’t afford to give himself away.

  The bondservant’s eyes narrowed. Had he sensed Sev’s magic just then? Sometimes it got away from him, when he was distracted or upset, and the next thing he knew, a bird or cat would sidle up to him, called there by accident.

  “What are you doing here?” Sev asked.

  The bondservant’s nostrils flared. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his dark eyes fixing at a point over Sev’s shoulder, where Ott and Jotham approached the cabin door on quiet feet. “Don’t apologize to me for a soldier’s harsh words and then stand aside while that same soldier robs innocent people, leaving nothing behind but their corpses.”

  Sev scowled. “They won’t listen to me,” he said, gesturing toward Ott and Jotham. “And I hate to break it to you, but they’ll do a lot worse before we leave this mountain.” The empire hadn’t disguised a two-hundred-person regiment and snuck them into the Freelands to undergo treaty negotiations. Sev didn’t know exactly what they were here for, but whatever it was, it wasn’t about peace.

  The bondservant gave him a look of open disgust. “And you’re okay with that, are you?”

  Sev stared at him, at the challenge on the bondservant’s face. It wasn’t that Sev was unused to being challenged, but since he’d been a soldier, no bondservant had dared to even speak to him. Yet this one did so without hesitation or fear.

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m okay with,” Sev said. “I have no choice.”

  The bondservant’s lip curled, as if Sev were lower than the dung on his boots and not his superior. “There is always a choice.”

  Lies.

  Sev hadn’t chosen to be abandoned by his parents at age four or to live in the overcrowded war orphanages, where sickness and hunger were rampant and hiding his animage ability was the difference between freedom and bondage. When Sev had accidentally killed a soldier, he hadn’t chosen to take the soldier’s place, joining the very people he’d hidden from all his life. Choice was an illusion, a fork in the road in an adventure story. Choice wasn’t real life—at least, not without desperate consequences.

  If Sev was going to make one choice in his life, it would be to run away from death and the people who dealt it, not toward it.

  If the forest was silent before, now not even the wind rustled the leaves.

  Then, like thunder out of a clear blue sky, Jotham kicked down the door.

  The death of our father marked the end of a dynasty a thousand years in the making. But it was not the end of us.

  - CHAPTER 4 -

  VERONYKA

  VERONYKA’S FINGERS WERE GRITTY with soil, the knees of her trousers damp as she knelt in the cool grass. With a sharp tug, she gripped the onion’s base and unearthed it by the roots. She tossed it into her basket, and as she reached for another, a bristle of awareness tickled the back of her neck.

  She heard something—no, she sensed it, the sound reverberating through her magic, not her ears.

  Unease tightening her chest, Veronyka whirled—and came face-to-face with Xephyra. Veronyka smiled, her heart soaring at the sight of her bondmate, despite the fact that Xephyra wasn’t supposed to be out in the open.

  “I told you to stay in the cabin,” Veronyka chided, though the words were unnecessary given their bond. You could have been seen. Xephyra blinked at her, all innocence and curiosity, before snapping at a moth that flitted by.

&
nbsp; Veronyka sighed. Even though they were in Pyra, supposedly out of the empire’s reach, it was still dangerous for an animage to be seen. And for a phoenix, it was life or death. They weren’t too far from the Foothills, where it was common for raiders to strike nearby settlements. If they were caught, Veronyka would be forced into bondage, and Xephyra would be executed.

  At least Val wasn’t with them. She’d left first thing in the morning to “barter” at the Runnet market and replenish their stores, which for Val meant using shadow magic to convince unsuspecting sellers to give her their wares for free. Wanting to be useful, Veronyka had left soon after to gather bulbs of wild onion, garlic, and edible roots, and Xephyra was supposed to remain safely behind.

  Since the moment Xephyra had taken her first flight two weeks ago, Val had forbidden her from ever leaving the cabin unless Val herself was present to keep a lookout, and even those opportunities were rare. Just as she’d turned her nose up at Veronyka’s other animal friends, Val’s distaste for Veronyka’s bondmate grew more obvious every day. Veronyka knew it was jealousy, that Val felt hurt and left out, but the more Veronyka tried to bridge the gap that had grown between them, the surlier Val became. For every affectionate croon or indulgent praise Veronyka gave the young phoenix, Val spat out a dozen rules and warnings about their dangerous magical relationship.

  Veronyka mustn’t coddle Xephyra, or the bird would grow pathetic and complacent.

  She mustn’t let Xephyra misbehave, for that showed weakness and Veronyka would lose control over her.

  She must maintain the power dynamic: Veronyka was the master, Xephyra the servant. They were not family—not like her and Val—and Veronyka’s insistence upon treating Xephyra as a friend and an equal would be their undoing.

  Veronyka tried to listen to Val, but she had been close with animals all her life, and she’d always gotten what she wanted or needed with a request—not a demand. Sometimes Val’s words seemed like the highest wisdom; at other times they sounded like convenient trumped-up excuses to put a wedge between Veronyka and her bondmate.

  Whenever Veronyka openly disagreed with Val, she’d lash out. It had always been that way.

  “It’s just your sister’s nature,” her grandmother used to say whenever Val would be cruel or controlling. “She’s like fire—she devours.”

  “What am I like, Maiora?” Veronyka would ask.

  “You’re like fire too—you light the way.”

  Thinking of her grandmother made Veronyka smile, no matter how desperately she missed her—especially since Xephyra had been born. Veronyka was certain that her maiora’s advice would counterbalance Val’s and help make peace between them again. To Val, their differences were something to fix—a problem that required a solution. And of course, Veronyka was the one who should change, never Val. But their grandmother had a way of highlighting their similarities—like the fire analogy—helping them see that they were simply two sides of the same coin; opposites, but ever connected.

  It was okay to be different from Val, and the sooner her sister accepted it, the better off they’d both be.

  But Veronyka’s determination to stand up for herself wavered the closer she got to the cabin. Things had been so tense between them lately, and she didn’t want to have another unnecessary fight. Her patience with Val’s surliness was wearing thin. If Veronyka and Xephyra beat her sister back to the cabin, they could avoid a confrontation altogether.

  Xephyra soared ahead as they cut through the thick forest, flitting from branch to branch, poking her beak at worms and grubs, and chirruping at other birds that crossed their path. She was like a precocious child—intelligent, curious, and sometimes impulsive, but still lacking a certain maturity and understanding of the world. Their communication had grown in the weeks since her birth, shifting from images and impressions to more developed thoughts and even the odd word or sentence, though it would be months until Xephyra had the vocabulary and language comprehension to have a full conversation. They’d begun to anticipate each other’s movements and thoughts, doing daily chores as if attached by an invisible string.

  Much as Xephyra was changing, Veronyka found her own mind expanding with all the sensory information her bondmate gave her. Smells and sounds and sights that had always gone unnoticed by Veronyka became bright spots of interest for the phoenix. Veronyka’s magic was affected too. Ever since they’d bonded, the strength and reach of her animal magic had almost doubled, bringing the world to life around her more vividly than ever before.

  Already Xephyra was the size of a large eagle, her down replaced with silky, iridescent feathers, longer and darker on her tail, matching the beginnings of a crest growing atop her head. Females had deep purple crowns and tail feathers, while the males’ accents were golden yellow. Val had said Xephyra was large for her age, and by two months she could be ready to ride. Though the timing varied, most phoenixes were considered fully grown between three and six months.

  Phoenixes developed quickly, physically and mentally, their accelerated growth cycle giving them lightning-fast healing times and sharp intelligence. Xephyra was thirsty for knowledge, which was why it was so difficult to get her to remain indoors. The other reason was her deep-rooted interest in finding other phoenixes—“brothers and sisters of fire,” she called them in her mind. Phoenixes weren’t solitary; they mated for life, and they usually lived in groups, gathering food and defending territory together.

  Veronyka knew it was only a matter of time before Xephyra would insist on leaving to seek others like them. She would need the guidance of other phoenixes, and Veronyka would definitely need the help of other Riders. The thought of striking out together was impossibly exciting, an adventure Veronyka hardly dared to imagine. It was the logical next step, but it was so much more than that. The idea of being welcomed by other animages and their phoenixes, of making friends and finding a place to belong was an intoxicating dream. But there were so many uncertainties, not least of which was the question of whether any such place—or any such people—existed.

  There was also the question of whether or not Val would come. If she even could come. She didn’t have a phoenix, after all.

  Absorbed in her thoughts and distracted by Xephyra’s contemplation of a cobweb, Veronyka actually jumped when a loud crack echoed through the forest, coming from the direction of the cabin.

  She swallowed, a hot spasm of fear lancing through her stomach. It had sounded like a door being kicked in.

  Val.

  She must have returned home early.

  Veronyka quickened her pace, telling Xephyra to do the same. If they hurried, she might get within view of the cabin before Val saw their approach, and Veronyka could convince her sister that they’d never journeyed beyond the isolated safety of the small clearing.

  Fixing the story in her mind, Veronyka ducked under a heavy bough, sticky bits of sap clinging to her fingers and hair. She released the branch with a swish, and the cabin came into view, bathed in the hazy, brass-colored sunlight of late afternoon.

  It was peaceful-looking. Idyllic. Like a wise maiora’s cottage in an old folktale.

  Except there was no kindly old woman before her, offering sweets and a story.

  There wasn’t even Val, with arms crossed and nostrils flared.

  Instead there was a raider. And he was staring right at her.

  We clung to each other in our grief. Her suffering was my suffering. Her pain was my pain.

  - CHAPTER 5 -

  SEV

  SEV’S HAND DROPPED REFLEXIVELY to the knife strapped to his belt. He was surprised such an instinct existed in him. He supposed the months of combat training were finally starting to pay off.

  Only, he’d never trained against an unarmed girl bursting forth from the trees like a startled animal. Her eyes lit on him, then darted to the cabin. This must be her home, and here he was, armed and blocking her from returning to it.

  The girl was young—not much younger than Sev himself, but something ab
out her seemed childlike. Her rich golden-brown skin glowed like bronze in the sun, and her black hair was twisted with braids, thick and thin, some capped with beads and shining objects, others woven with thread. Her feet were bare, and that willful vulnerability told Sev that she’d thought she was safe here, safe enough to leave her home without fear of never returning again. Perhaps it was that certainty of survival, that sense of invincibility, that made her seem young to him. It had been a long time since Sev had enjoyed that feeling of safety.

  As soon as she saw the knife in his hand, she became abruptly, unnaturally still—like prey sensing a predator.

  Sev swallowed, his throat as dry as sunbaked sand. What was he supposed to do now? If Jotham and Ott saw her, they’d want her silenced.

  The sound of breaking glass echoed from the cabin behind him, shattering the frozen moment. The girl’s head whipped in the direction of the noise, and the realization that there were more raiders, that Sev was not alone, dawned on her face.

  “Empty,” came Jotham’s voice, loud and impossibly close-sounding. Sev’s heartbeat spiked painfully, but when he glanced behind him, both Jotham and Ott were still inside the cabin. “Not a damn thing worth stealing, either,” Ott added.

  Panic sang through Sev’s veins. If there was nothing worth stealing, they’d be outside again at any moment.

  He turned back to the girl. “Get out of here,” he whispered, waving his hand toward the trees.

  The girl frowned, clearly confused. Why was a raider who’d drawn his knife on her now telling her to run away? She must suspect some kind of trick, and when her eyes roved the trees around them—and settled on the bondservant, lurking in the shadows behind Sev—she stepped away from them, deeper into the clearing. Wrong direction.

  “No, wait. I, we . . . ,” Sev began, gesturing toward the bondservant, “mean you no harm.” He sheathed his dagger. “But they”—he pointed toward the cabin—“do.”