Turning back around, Veronyka stood. The girl was a head shorter than Veronyka, dirty and thin, and her cool sand-colored skin was freckled on her cheeks and bare shoulders from too much time in the sun. She’d clearly made her own spear, the shaft a knotted branch that wasn’t quite straight and the obsidian tip fastened with a length of oiled leather rope. Still, it looked sharp.
“Won’t hurt you,” the girl said, smirking in amusement, as if Veronyka were being suspicious and overcautious—and hadn’t just been awoken with that very weapon pressed to her throat. The bird in the girl’s hair twittered, and she nodded, as if reminded of something.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
Veronyka hesitated, fearing that the word alone would somehow draw Val down upon her. “Veronyka,” she whispered.
The girl pointed at herself. “Sparrow, and this is Chirp.”
The bird chirped obligingly, and Veronyka knew her suspicion that Sparrow was an animage was true. It wasn’t uncommon for animages to have loyal pets, almost as near and dear to them as Riders and their phoenixes but without the magical bond.
Veronyka held a hand out to her in greeting. The girl continued to stare somewhere slightly off to Veronyka’s left, until the silence caused her to frown. She blinked, tilted her head, then Chirp dislodged himself from her hair and fluttered onto Veronyka’s outstretched arm.
Sparrow’s frown smoothed out, and she took Veronyka’s hand.
She can’t see, Veronyka realized, as Chirp hopped up Veronyka’s arm to land on her shoulder, his black eyes gleaming as he studied her. The sparrow must act as her guide, much in the same way Veronyka used owls and other night creatures to help her see in the darkness.
Tentatively, Veronyka reached out to Chirp. Before she’d more than brushed the bird’s mind, Sparrow gasped in pleasure.
“You’re an animage!” she said, cheeks flushing with delight. Chirp left Veronyka’s shoulder and took up a perch on Sparrow’s instead. They cocked their heads at Veronyka in unison before Sparrow scanned the area around them—not with her eyes, with her magic. “But you’re alone.”
Val had never let Veronyka keep a pet. Even the creatures that helped her every now and again suffered her sister’s scorn and contempt. Only a phoenix was worthy of them, Val would say, and animages who kept cats and dogs by their sides deluded themselves with a pale imitation of what a true bond was.
Veronyka nodded in response to Sparrow’s observation, then, remembering that the girl couldn’t see, added, “Yes, I’m alone.” The words caused Veronyka’s throat to tighten. Barely a day had passed, and she’d lost both a bondmate and a sister. Xephyra’s loss was like a fresh knife wound, raw and stinging, but she refused to feel hurt over Val. Her sister had chosen this schism. She had willingly destroyed the most precious thing in Veronyka’s world, ruthlessly and without remorse. “For now,” she added.
“For now,” Sparrow repeated, nodding, as if Veronyka’s words were the highest wisdom. “Sometimes we have to be alone. But not always. And look, now you’re with me. Not alone no more.”
Veronyka expelled a breath, relieved that the tension of this confrontation had defused. She looked around the clearing again, a frown creasing her forehead. Did Val know this place was in ruins? Had she deliberately sent Veronyka here or lied about where she actually intended to go to make sure Veronyka couldn’t follow?
“Sparrow, I—” Before Veronyka could finish, the girl had her by the arm and was yanking her down behind part of the wall with the water goddess.
Veronyka staggered after her, confused, until faint voices drifted through the trees, followed by the steady roll of a wagon’s wheels.
Her mind immediately went to raiders, then to the soldiers she’d found outside her door. But when Veronyka peered around the edge of the wall, she could see the approaching people through the trees.
There was an older man, past middle age, and a teenage boy, both sitting at the front of a wagon pulled by a pair of sturdy mountain horses. They were dressed simply, like many of the local villagers, in short tunics and cropped pants, though Veronyka spotted knife hilts on both of their belts. It was common enough to carry a weapon while traveling, but the younger of the two had a bow across his back as well. While the older man looked like a local, the boy had coloring similar to Sparrow’s, his light-brown hair shining gold in the sun.
When the older of the two spoke in a low, barely audible rumble, Sparrow visibly relaxed.
“It’s just the steward,” she said, though she made no move to pop up and say hello. That was probably for the best, given the boy’s bow and wary expression. Maybe he was the man’s personal guard?
“Steward for what?” Veronyka asked, still watching their slow progression. As far as she knew, stewards ran households for rich lords and merchants in places like Marble Row, where the empire’s wealthiest lived. Veronyka remembered seeing the stewards and their attendants at the local markets, purchasing all the best food, wine, and finery for their employers. The concept of a manor household filled with staff wasn’t something that had ever taken hold in Pyra—even the wealthiest of Pyraean merchants, farmers, and tradespeople employed only a bare-bones staff: a cook, an animage or animal keeper, and maybe a household attendant to clean and maintain the home.
Sparrow had turned away, leaning her back against the wall as she picked at a bit of twine on her spear. “For that exiled governor’s house. They say he’s an old hermit, walled inside his country estate, and he sends his steward to the villages every month or two. Sometimes they come looking for stablehands or . . .”
Veronyka stopped listening to Sparrow. The steward’s voice was growing louder, and she was shocked to hear the man speaking ancient Pyraean. It hadn’t been an official spoken language in at least a hundred years, slowly phased out in favor of the Trader’s Tongue.
But Veronyka knew it. It was still part of upper-class education, and so her maiora had learned it, thanks to her status as a Phoenix Rider. She had been common born, just like Val and Veronyka, but being a Rider elevated you to the highest echelons of society. Or at least it used to.
It took a moment for Veronyka to understand what they were saying—she hadn’t spoken it much since her grandmother was taken from her.
But there was one word she would never forget—one that Val made sure she always remembered.
Phoenixaeres.
Phoenix Riders.
Veronyka lurched to her feet, seeking out their faces, hoping to better hear their conversation. They continued to speak in Pyraean, but seeing their lips move helped Veronyka puzzle through it.
“. . . enough for everyone, including the underwings. We ran out last month.”
Veronyka’s heart was beating very fast now. Underwings were Apprentice Riders. These travelers were here on behalf of Phoenix Riders.
The lane twisted away before she could hear any more, and they soon passed out of sight.
“He always goes to the Vayle market,” Sparrow said, getting to her feet.
“The market . . . ,” Veronyka muttered, turning on the spot and looking back down the hillside. “Where—”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Sparrow said, and Chirp agreed, trilling loudly before zipping forward to lead the way.
Sparrow didn’t bother with the road. She cut directly through the trees, down the sloping ground like water over a riverbed, swift and smooth, either very well connected to the bird who flew just in front of her, or so familiar with her surroundings that she didn’t need guidance. She used her spear like a walking stick, poking aside brambles and stepping over rotten logs.
Veronyka did her best to keep up, stumbling over gnarled roots and getting her hair snagged on branches, her mind whirling.
The steward’s arrival provided Veronyka with some much-needed hope—and focus. The outpost had been a bust, but all was not lost. He’d mentioned both Phoenix Riders and underwings—surely that meant whatever exiled lord he served had been a Phoenix Rider. S
till was. And they had Apprentice Riders with them as well.
Maybe they would take her with them when they returned to the Riders’ estate. The thought lightened her heavy spirit, filled her with a sense of opportunity . . . and yet there must be a reason they were speaking ancient Pyraean to each other and claiming to simply work at a country estate.
They didn’t want people to know they were Riders.
It was wise, especially on the lower rim, so close to the border to the empire. But if Veronyka told them she’d overheard their secret, would they welcome her or be angry with her for eavesdropping?
“What was it you said about stablehands, Sparrow?” she asked, thinking back on their earlier conversation.
“Most of the time the steward comes for food—bags of dates and casks of honey wine,” she said, “but other times he needs extra help with horses and hounds and the like, so he brings workers back with him.”
“Animages?” Veronyka asked. Surely “stablehands” was code, their way of recruiting without drawing unwanted notice.
Sparrow nodded. “Only boys, though.”
“What—why?” Veronyka asked, her theory unraveling. There had been male and female Phoenix Riders since the dawn of time. The First Riders were all women, chosen by Azurec—Axura, she corrected herself, then immediately thought of Val. Hot anger burned through her body, but she pushed it down, refusing to let her sister take hold. In the early Pyraean tribes, women were the hunters and fighters, and so Axura chose them to help fight the darkness and bring balance back to the world. It wasn’t until the next generation that daughters and sons rode, and even during the height of the Phoenix Riders in the empire, the women outnumbered the men.
Maybe they really did need help in the stables. Not that girls can’t do that, too, Veronyka thought irritably.
“Something about sleeping bunks,” Sparrow continued skeptically. “As if boys and girls can’t sleep side by side without trying to stab each other.”
Veronyka cast Sparrow a sidelong glance, unsure if the girl was trying to speak in innuendo and messing up the subtleties, or if she really thought it was fighting the steward might be worried about.
Still, the idea nagged at her. Could it be true? Could Veronyka have found Phoenix Riders regrouping on Pyrmont only to discover that she couldn’t join them anyway?
It must be a mistake. She would talk to them, convince them that she belonged.
As they stepped onto the road, Sparrow began pointing to houses and shops, indicating who lived where and what they sold. She knew about their families and their friends, old grudges and new romances, and if ever she were uncertain of who she was seeing or where they were, all she needed was a quiet tweet from Chirp to get her back on track.
The buildings were mostly made of large local stones, except for their roofs and shutters, which were made of woven slats of wood, painted in sun-bleached shades of blue, yellow, and red. Tinkling wind chimes and bright flowers added more color to the stony village.
Despite the fact that Pyra had been a part of the empire for almost two hundred years, the countless gods of the empire’s pantheon never really took root there. Some would pray to Teyke the trickster for luck or to Miseriya for her mercy, but those gods had come from the valley, and their worship was seen more as superstition than true piety. Technically the Pyraeans had two gods, Axura and Nox, but you didn’t really worship the goddess of death and darkness. Smoking incense was burned at funerals, and black veils were worn in mourning. Otherwise, Pyra was Axura’s domain. Circular Eyes of Axura were painted on thresholds and entryways—protection against lost spirits of the dead—and woven phoenix idols made with red-dyed dove feathers dangled in open windows.
Though Sparrow seemed to know the villagers inside and out, Veronyka was surprised at their cool treatment of her. They regarded her as somewhat of a pest, like a buzzing fly they wanted to swat away. Did she not have family or friends here? Was she even from Vayle? She had the look of someone from Stel or Arboria South, but there were plenty of people living—or hiding—in Pyra these days who weren’t Pyraean. The fact that she might be alone made Veronyka feel new kinship with her, and she remained close to the girl’s side as they wended their way through the busy Vayle streets.
When at last they caught up to the steward, the market was too crowded for Veronyka to hear any more, and she was anxious to approach him. But if the steward and the boy were speaking Pyraean to keep their affairs secret, they certainly wouldn’t appreciate Veronyka approaching them in the middle of the bustling market.
“You’re staring at them,” Sparrow said. It wasn’t phrased like a question. Her brow was furrowed and her head was tilted slightly, as if trying to make sense of the noise all around.
“Uh, yes, I guess I am,” Veronyka muttered, turning around and pretending to shop at a stall of headscarves. The proprietor gave her and Sparrow dubious looks—both were barefooted and dirty—and when Sparrow began feeling the fabrics enthusiastically, the saleswoman slapped her hand away.
“Why?” Sparrow asked Veronyka, unperturbed by the chastisement. She turned away from the stall and twirled her spear in front of her with a haphazard flick of the wrist, causing everybody they passed to gasp and scuttle out of the way.
Veronyka glanced around, but Sparrow’s spear made sure everyone gave them a wide berth. “I think they might be Phoenix Riders.”
Veronyka didn’t know why she trusted Sparrow with this information, but she figured she could use all the help she could get.
“Oh, Phoenix Riders,” Sparrow breathed, eyes alight. Her hands stilled, and the butt of her spear landed on the ground with a soft thud. “Lyra the Defender. Wise Queen Malka and Thrax. Aurelya, the Golden Queen.”
“Have you heard anything about them recently, Sparrow? Anything to do with the steward?”
The girl shook her head. “I will listen harder.”
Then, without another word, she darted in the direction of the steward’s wagon.
“Sparrow!” Veronyka hissed. She chased after the girl, leaping back from a horse-drawn cart and dodging the flailing arms of a fishmonger promising the freshest catch of the day, before finally catching up to her next to the wagon.
Veronyka opened her mouth to insist that they leave at once, afraid they would be seen eavesdropping, when Sparrow clapped small, clammy fingers against Veronyka’s lips.
“Rooms are booked,” the steward said, his voice drifting over to them from the opposite side of the wagon. The words were followed by the grunt and shift of heavy items being loaded inside. “We’ll leave just before dawn. Then it’s Rushlea and a hard push to Petratec. You off to see her?”
“If that’s all right, Master Beryk,” the boy answered, his voice tight with worry. Master Beryk, as in Master Rider, the designation for a fully trained Phoenix Rider? While anyone who rode a phoenix could be called a “phoenix rider,” when referring to Phoenix Riders in the military sense, there were two specific subgroups: masters and apprentices.
“Remember, no formalities here, Elliot.”
“Of course—I’m sorry, sir.”
“You’ve plenty of time for a visit, so long as you’re back before daybreak.”
“I will be.”
Beryk sighed. “If only the commander weren’t so strict . . . you might have brought her back with you. Your sister’s an animage, yes?”
“Everyone is in my family. She’d have come when I did, if he would have let her.” His voice wavered slightly, as if fighting to hide his bitterness. “She desperately wants to be a Rider.”
Beryk cleared his throat, and Veronyka feared he could hear her heart skip a beat on the other side of the wagon. “Well, lucky she’s visiting relatives so close to Vayle and that you get to see her now, at any rate.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll go now, then.”
Veronyka had a split second to realize that the scraping footsteps were heading in their direction before she straightened up, trying to pull Sparrow back with her.
>
The young boy, Elliot, rounded the wagon and spotted them lurking near the edge of the canvas flap that covered their supplies.
“Hey!” he shouted, eyes landing first on Sparrow. Like the scarf seller, Elliot had taken one look at her wild hair and dirty clothes and had decided she was no good. “Get away from there, thief!”
He lunged forward, waving an arm as if he meant to scare her off, and Veronyka instinctually leapt between them. She didn’t want to see Sparrow harmed and was fed up with the careless way people treated her.
“She’s no thief,” Veronyka snapped, keeping a hand on Sparrow, pleased to hear that her voice sounded braver than she felt. Chirp started twittering away, zooming in wide circles around all three of them, and it seemed their combined efforts were enough to stop Elliot short.
He stared at the bird, then at Veronyka, and she knew she looked hardly better than Sparrow.
“What’s this, now?” said Beryk, rounding the side of the wagon. Veronyka froze. She hadn’t thought this through. She’d only meant to protect Sparrow—the last thing she wanted was to be seen as a thief or a troublemaker by the man who might be able to make her dreams come true.
Without another word, Veronyka pulled Sparrow’s arm and marched her through the crowd, Chirp following behind. She glanced over her shoulder, but they weren’t pursued. It was probably obvious by their lack of possessions that they hadn’t actually stolen anything. Still, Veronyka’s insides twisted. Had she just ruined her chance with the steward?
“You stood up for me,” Sparrow said as they came to a stop in the outskirts of the market. She reached absently for Chirp, who landed in her palm. She gazed down at him, patting his head, her brow furrowed. “No one ever stands up for Sparrow and Chirp.”
Crown of Feathers Page 10
