Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  The first flicker had been the horn call; the second, the young Rider’s gleaming spear. Everything had happened so quickly after that, the terror building inside her chest, waiting for release. The looming crowd of indifferent faces, dressed more like military foot soldiers than Phoenix Riders. The commander’s brusque questions and easy dismissal. The dagger. The rough, searching hands that threatened to accidentally discover her bound breasts at any moment. All the while, Veronyka held her breath, afraid her hitching chest might stoke the flames of her emotions or draw attention to the smallest of swells beneath the fabric. The presence of the phoenixes with their wild hearts and fiery minds had made it all worse, but somehow her secret remained her own. For now.

  It had never occurred to Veronyka that a simple knife could arouse such suspicion. Then again, coupled with her vague account of being the brother of the girl who had eavesdropped on Beryk in Vayle—and Elliot’s accusations that her sister was a thief—she supposed her story was far from perfect. She hadn’t expected to be interrogated, and that small moment of hesitation when she was deciding what she should and shouldn’t say was all it took to condemn her in their eyes. Now she was being escorted to their compound as a prisoner. It felt like some kind of irrevocable sentence; it felt like failure.

  A lead weight settled into the pit of her stomach as the majority of the Riders took off into the sky, leaving Beryk and Elliot behind. The boy who’d found her was last to leave, his scowling face telling her she’d made an enemy already, though she wasn’t entirely sure how. When he’d first landed before her, swooping in on phoenix-back with his drawn spear flashing in the setting sun, he’d looked like a hero out of a Pyraean Epic. Then he’d dismounted and pointed the weapon at her, and the fantasy had shattered.

  Lost in thought, Veronyka was startled when Beryk sidled up to her again. “Twins?” he asked curiously. His voice was gruff but not unkind—still, Veronyka jumped as if he’d shouted at her.

  “P-pardon?”

  “You and your sister. Are you twins?”

  “No, sir,” Veronyka said, avoiding his eyes and running a self-conscious hand over her cropped hair once his back was turned.

  It had hurt at first, hacking away the long braids she’d worn all her life—but Veronyka wouldn’t let a little thing like being a girl stop her from becoming a Rider. While plenty of Pyraean boys wore their hair long and braided, Veronyka hadn’t failed to notice that Beryk—whose deep brown skin surely marked Pyraean heritage—did not.

  Her maiora had told her that it was tradition for Phoenix Riders to cut their hair short when they began training, symbolizing a new start. It also created a camaraderie with the other empire military orders, who wore short hair as well. Braids became a status symbol, something earned and possible only after years of training allowed freshly shorn hair to grow long again.

  When Sparrow suggested Veronyka become a boy, it was the first thing she’d thought of. If she were going to transform herself and start over, why not fully embrace it? Besides, anything she could do to be more like the others could only help her in blending in. The short hair did make her look more masculine, highlighting her sharp jaw and cheekbones, and when she used a scrap of fabric to flatten her breasts, the simple transformation was complete.

  While the hair itself was meaningless to her, the beads and sentimental embellishments she’d added over the years were priceless. Veronyka had salvaged what she could and stuffed the mess into a secret pocket inside her trousers. She had stitched it in years ago in order to hide coins and other valuables from pickpockets and thieves—and, in this case, random body searches.

  As long as she didn’t let her voice get too high, she’d be fine. She was Nyk now, and Veronyka was just another part of her past she’d have to leave behind.

  “Well, we’d best be off,” Beryk said. “It’s a short walk, so the mounts’ll meet us there,” he continued as the last two phoenixes took to the sky, leaving their Riders behind.

  Beryk took the lead, keeping Veronyka’s knife and small bundle of supplies in hand, while Elliot walked behind. He seemed tense and wary, as if he expected her to make a run for it, and it almost made Veronyka laugh—she could barely put one foot in front of the other, never mind attempt an escape.

  It was a strange relief to surrender herself to her captors’ control after almost a week of hard travel, worrying about getting lost and struggling to keep herself from going hungry or becoming dehydrated.

  By the time she’d gotten her disguise in place in Vayle, Beryk’s wagon had long since disappeared over the hills. Veronyka had been ready to run after them when she realized that time might be her friend. If she’d caught up to Beryk that night, surely he would have been suspicious and would have remembered the girl’s face from that morning a little bit too clearly. But if she crossed paths with them at Rushlea or Petratec—the places he’d mentioned visiting next—she had a better shot at presenting herself as a boy recruit and fooling them. She knew he might still spot similarities between Veronyka’s two personas, which was why she’d thought up the sister lie. She did have a sister, much as she loathed to remember it, so it felt easier to pass off as a truth.

  As Veronyka had prepared for several days of travel, Sparrow had been worth her weight in gold. She’d helped gather provisions for the journey, begging stale bread from the baker, scraps of salt trout from the fishmonger, and several packs of dried venison from a hunter passing through town.

  When she was young, Veronyka had struggled with the concept of eating animals. It had seemed cannibalistic in some way, as if she were eating her friends. But over time, after connecting with animal after animal, she began to understand that they didn’t see it that way. Humans were predators, and eating prey was where they fit on the food chain. Hunting was still difficult for her to imagine, though animages did it all the time, tracing back to the First Riders, who were famed hunters. They would never use their magic to lure prey, though, because they considered that an abuse of Axura’s gift.

  The nonmagical folk in the empire, however, felt differently. They were more than happy to force their bondservants to keep livestock docile before they were slaughtered or to ensnare a stag on a hunting party. It was a cruel use of their gift; animages deserved better than that, and the animals under their charge did too.

  After the food stores were taken care of, Sparrow had given Veronyka a small satchel and an old tin pot from her personal supply of hoarded items that she kept hidden in a tree. When Veronyka mentioned her Ferronese steel blade, Sparrow’s mouth had fallen open.

  “Would fetch a pretty penny if you wanted to part with it. Then you could make your own, like me,” she added, indicating her spear.

  “I think I ought to keep it,” Veronyka had said, adjusting the knife where it stuck out of her belt. “In case of emergency.”

  She remembered her grandmother mentioning private Phoenix Rider tutors. They were usually retired Riders paid for by wealthy valley lords to teach their animage children, making them top-notch recruits by the time they joined the military and ensuring they gained a spot among the elite ranks. Her maiora saw it as disgraceful cheating and claimed that no Rider should have to pay out of pocket for their training. But this wasn’t the empire’s well-funded military. Whatever this was, Veronyka needed to be prepared, and if she had to pay to join them, she’d best keep the most valuable item she had.

  “Thanks, Sparrow, for everything,” Veronyka had said as they’d parted ways at the edge of the river. Though she’d been anxious to get going—it was a two-day walk to Rushlea, and she had a lot of ground to make up—the prospect of being alone again made her dawdle. “I hope I see you again.”

  Sparrow had looked confused for a moment, as if unfamiliar with those kinds of pleasantries. Then she’d smiled widely. “Good luck tricking the steward. Maybe I’ll try to trick him next time he comes to town.”

  And with that she walked away, disappearing from Veronyka’s life as abruptly as she’d arrived. Ver
onyka thought of Val, the way she used her shadow magic to force and manipulate people into helping her. But as Sparrow strolled away, twirling her spear and chatting animatedly to Chirp, Veronyka reveled in the knowledge that you didn’t need to control someone in order for them to help you.

  Sometimes you didn’t even have to ask.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until Veronyka’s plans went to pieces. The journey took far longer than she’d thought, thanks to her tired muscles and the fact that she’d barely slept in two nights. She missed Beryk and his wagon at Rushlea, and she got lost twice on her way to Petratec. In truth, that Rider boy spotting her from the sky had felt more like rescue than capture, and now, finally, she was on her way to their hideout.

  Before long they came to the edge of the River Aurys and crossed it by a rickety rope bridge that dangled over the foamy water like a damp cobweb. Though full dark had fallen, it was brighter in the open space surrounding the river, the moonlight coloring the mountainside in shades of charcoal and ash. Water beaded in Veronyka’s short hair, and the steady rush muffled all other sounds.

  When they reached the far side, a wide path—the Pilgrimage Road—came into view, slicing across a rolling plain of tall grasses. It led directly to a series of lantern-lit buildings tucked into the side of a soaring cliff face, the looming spear of rock a solid black mass against the star-encrusted expanse of the sky. There was a stable, a stone well, and a larger building Veronyka assumed was an inn and cookhouse—a way station for weary travelers. As they drew nearer, she could make out a steep, narrow stair cut into the living rock of the escarpment, zigzagging to the top of the precipice and out of sight.

  Realization dawned on Veronyka. This was the end of the Pilgrimage Road, which meant they were standing on the Field of Feathers. This was where Queen Lyra the Defender rallied the Phoenix Riders during the Lowland Invasion. There had been a tribe of people living in the Foothills hundreds of years ago who’d tried to conquer Pyrmont. Queen Lyra’s Riders, often called the “Red Horde,” represented the first-ever gathering of the entirety of Pyra’s Phoenix Riders. Traditionally the Riders lived in scattered settlements on the higher reaches of Pyrmont, villages and cities accessible only on phoenix-back. It was after Queen Lyra successfully beat back the Lowlanders that the Riders expanded farther down the mountain into the rest of the lower rim and Foothills, establishing the boundaries of Pyra still in place today.

  Veronyka wasn’t going to some exiled governor’s country estate. If this was the Field of Feathers, then those stairs must lead to . . .

  “Azurec’s Eyrie,” Beryk said, following her line of sight and pointing to the rocky bluff that loomed above them.

  There was nothing to see from this angle—but that was the point. After Queen Lyra defeated the Lowlanders, the buildings atop this bluff—given the name “Azurec’s Eyrie” centuries later—became one of the largest military outposts built during the Reign of Queens, encompassing a temple to Axura, living quarters, and training facilities. The temple at the Eyrie was supposedly located in the exact place that Axura’s phoenixes won their first battle against Nox, commemorating the victory.

  When Pyra became a part of the empire, most training facilities were moved to the valley, and this location fell into disuse. It was during the reign of Pious King Justyn that the compound was transformed into a religious site and construction of the Pilgrimage Road began. The project had taken most of King Justyn’s reign to complete, but the resulting trade and tourism helped Pyra’s economy flourish and encouraged travel throughout the mountain region. When Avalkyra Ashfire moved to have Pyra separate from the empire, all that commerce was lost, and Pyra hadn’t recovered since. All the inns and cookhouses that had serviced the pilgrims had closed down, and religious sites like the Eyrie were left untended and abandoned, with no funding or leaders remaining to see it restored.

  Until now, apparently.

  High as Azurec’s Eyrie was, Pyrmont’s upper reaches loomed farther in the distance, rising steeply to disappear into the night sky. No road cut a path through that wilderness. Those that had dwelt there rode phoenixes and had no need for such conveyances.

  Veronyka’s escorts led her past the way station and straight for the staircase, pausing just long enough to adjust their packs before starting the climb. She worried her legs might give out beneath her, but she refused to ask for a break. Instead she focused on counting the number of stairs to the summit.

  Veronyka passed under hanging vines and into the cover of twisting, gravity-defying trees, before the stair switched back and there was nothing but wide, open air between her and the ground below. During one of these open stretches, Veronyka chanced a look back down the mountainside. She felt incredibly small, the mountain stretching endlessly beneath her. Many of the peaks that surrounded the valley were lower than she was now, their jagged tops ringed with wisps of clouds. She couldn’t see any of the villages that lined the road, but for a moment she swore she could feel the distance between herself and where she’d started.

  Between herself and Val.

  The air became thin and sparse in her lungs, and she forced herself to look at the steps directly beneath her feet. What kind of would-be Rider got silly when it came to heights?

  Two hundred and twenty-one steps later, gasping, Veronyka crested the top of the staircase. While Beryk and Elliot murmured about reporting to the commander, Veronyka took the opportunity to plunk herself on the ground and catch her breath.

  They were on the edge of a gently rolling plain, enclosed by rocky spears of stone on all sides, making the plateau invisible to anyone below. It was like a little slice of soft Pyraean countryside, wedged into this hard, jagged landscape. Long grass swished in the breeze, and the sky above was vast and star strewn. At the far end of the field was a small stone village, tiered gardens of carefully tended crops butting up against the walls that enclosed it. Rising above the village was another set of walls, taller and thicker than the first, surrounding a fortified stronghold. The walls were dotted with flickering lanterns, casting the buildings and the people who walked among them into dancing shadows and silhouettes.

  A magnificent temple rose behind the fortress walls, at least ten stories high and topped with a carved golden phoenix, wings spread as if about to take flight.

  Veronyka remained on her hands and knees—it seemed fitting, to lie as supplicant to a sight such as this. All her life, the glory and power of the Phoenix Riders were a long-lost story, a whispered history. Now it was alive before her. She was here with her people at last, and she was ready.

  Veronyka was led through the courtyard of the stronghold, past the stables, kitchens, and dining hall and around the towering temple. Behind it were a series of stone buildings, including smaller wooden structures like storage sheds.

  At the farthest point in the yard, a wide set of stairs led to a carved arch. Veronyka couldn’t see anything through the doorway in the darkness, but she sensed the stir of magic beyond.

  Phoenixes.

  They must live and roost there, out of sight of the rest of the stronghold. Veronyka’s body crackled with a surge of warm, tingling energy, her exhaustion completely forgotten. The archway called to her, and she yearned to follow.

  “This way,” said Beryk, steering her toward the largest of the stone buildings. It had the same hard gray exterior as the rest of the stronghold, nondescript and unadorned, but the inside was another matter entirely.

  They were greeted by a servant and led through richly carpeted halls hung with colorful tapestries and populated with the kinds of carved wooden tables and shelves of scrolls that Veronyka saw only in her dreams.

  At last they were directed into a large chamber, the imposing stone walls brightened by sconces casting pools of molten light. Taking up the majority of the space was a long table made from a single slab of wood. Veronyka had never seen anything so fine, the light from the lanterns highlighting the contrasting wood grain and the delicately carved details along t
he corners and legs. It was surely Arborian-made; the province was famous for its massive trees and talented woodworkers. A dozen matching chairs surrounded the table, though only one was occupied.

  The commander sat at his leisure, and the rest of the Riders from the clearing stood behind their leader, including the boy who’d caught her. He was stiff and scowling, and as she entered the room, he turned his bitter gaze in her direction.

  Veronyka stared at her feet, trying not to slump or fidget as Beryk briefed the commander on the journey back. Her tiredness had resurfaced, yet her growing nerves buzzed like wasps inside her mind.

  “He needs some sleep, Commander Cassian, and a proper meal. I can call Morra in the morn—”

  “We’ll deal with this now,” the commander said, cutting off the end of Beryk’s sentence. He turned to Veronyka. “You’ll answer our questions now, and you’ll be truthful. Depending on how you do, you will either sleep in a guest room or in a cell—do you understand?”

  “Yes, Commander, sir,” Veronyka said.

  “It will do you no good to lie, so I’d advise against it,” he added, and something in the tone of his voice made a finger of dread slip down her spine.

  Following Beryk’s lead, the others in the room left, except for Veronyka, the commander, and the boy. He projected his anger and frustration, so potent that it bumped distractingly against Veronyka’s mental defenses. Was this how Val had felt when Veronyka was careless with her emotions?

  The room was silent, and Veronyka didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands. The commander had a way of filling the space, of making Veronyka feel crowded and small. He was a large man—well over six feet, she would guess—with big hands and wide shoulders, but it was his attitude that was imposing. He radiated superiority and power, but it came across as elegant rather than brutish. He was olive-skinned, his wavy, salted brown hair receding slightly from his proud forehead. He had changed from his armor into a magnificent embroidered tunic, patterned with a Ferronese crossed-dagger motif picked out in silver thread, and several golden rings glimmered on his hands as he knit them together. He looked every bit an empire governor, exiled or not, and reminded Veronyka of the wealthy merchants and noblemen she’d seen in Aura Nova being carried through the narrow city streets on palanquins.