Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  But back then Sev hadn’t been the coward he was today. Back then Sev had wanted to be a hero.

  He might have been young, but on the farm, as soon as you could walk, you could work. First it was scouring the bushes all day, so his father could make his famous blackberry pie, or helping his mother weed the garden. Then it was carrying buckets of water or feed for the animals and hitching their oxen to the plow.

  During the spring thaw, when the river would flood and destroy their wooden bridge, Sev would turn the winch and raise the platform, keeping it safe until the waters receded. The river snaked around their farm, and when the bridge was drawn, Sev felt like they were on their own separate island, safe from harm.

  As the enemy soldiers approached, Sev knew that if he could just reach the drawbridge in time, he could slow the soldiers long enough for everyone on the farm and in the nearby houses to get to safety. It was late spring, so the river waters were still high and couldn’t be forded easily.

  If Sev could just get there, he would be a hero. The thought of his parents’ faces, shining with pride and admiration, filled his heart. He could imagine the villagers praising him for his quick thinking as they retreated to their safe houses. No one would get hurt. No one would die. All thanks to Sev.

  The ground was muddy and slick as he ran down to the river’s edge, and he skidded the last few feet as he approached the mechanism that controlled the bridge. The soldiers were much closer than he’d thought from his place on the hill, and fear made his hands clumsy as he struggled to turn the crank that would hoist the bridge, the sound of clinking metal and thumping boots reverberating around him. Sev pulled harder, panting, when the first raindrop splashed onto his face.

  The single drop turned into a steady mist, making his hands slip across the metal lever and his feet sink into the ever-deepening mud.

  The soldiers came to a halt on the other side of the river. Sev had managed to raise the bridge no more than a foot, and now it was too late to run.

  There was a shout—a command, Sev thought—and a soldier stepped forward, a loaded crossbow in hand.

  It was pointed at him, and Sev just stood there, muscles frozen, unable to move or think.

  But then a fierce screech cut through the patter of the rain, and a fiery arrow pierced the heart of the archer before he could pull the trigger. Sev whirled and saw his mother rip past, fire blazing from her phoenix as she rained a dozen more arrows down on the empire soldiers in rapid succession. They ducked and raised shields, but before Sev could see more, strong hands gripped his arms and hoisted him up, up, into the air.

  He was sitting in front of his father, mounted on his phoenix as they wheeled around, away from the fighting. It was Sev’s first and only flight on phoenix-back, and he’d been crying the whole time, too teeming with fear to marvel at the dizzying height and powerful speed.

  Before he knew it, his father was placing him on the path to their house.

  “It’s going to be all right, son,” he said, leaping back onto his phoenix and turning around to face Sev. His voice was calm and soothing, like it always was, no matter that they were under attack and his wife was fending off soldiers on her own. “Now, I want you to run as fast as you can to the safe house. You remember where it is, don’t you? Left at the fork. Run now, Sevro, and don’t look back.”

  Sev did as he was told, his boots slipping and sliding on the muddy path. But when he reached the top of the hill, he disobeyed his father’s last request and turned around.

  Both of his parents were in full flame, swooping and diving, leaving bodies and swathes of fire in their wake. Despite his fear, Sev’s heart swelled to see them make short work of the empire’s soldiers, who had begun to scatter and retreat, back over the hills . . .

  And into the swollen ranks of their reinforcements.

  There was double, triple the original number, the soldiers cresting the hilltop in waves. The first regiment must have been the vanguard, and now a larger force was on the horizon.

  Behind Sev, villagers and farmhands were scrambling to load themselves into wagons with whatever animals and supplies they could manage to gather. If his parents didn’t stop the coming soldiers, they would cross the river and wreak havoc on all the people Sev had grown up with, friends and neighbors, cousins and relatives.

  Turning his attention back to the fighting, Sev saw his mother and father flying high above, circling, signaling to each other. The bridge was on fire now, but the coming soldiers had wagons loaded with war machines, ladders, and catapults. The river wouldn’t stop them. Nothing would.

  Somehow, deep down inside, Sev knew what his parents intended to do. Maybe that was why he stayed there, watching. Maybe he knew it would be the last time he ever saw them.

  Slowly his parents’ phoenixes burned hotter, brighter . . . blistering, like the sun hanging low in the sky. Soon he couldn’t even see his parents, or the phoenixes they rode through the air—all he could see was fire and light.

  With a crackle and a cry that would sear itself into Sev’s memory forever, his parents dropped, hurtling toward the enemy soldiers like blazing arrows. They landed in a fiery explosion, the heat waves rippling across the ground and knocking Sev, hundreds of yards away, off his feet. When he got up again, there was nothing but fire—soldiers running, screaming, while all around him, the crops began to burn.

  Sev ran, just like his father had told him. He knew the fire would spread, would swallow their farmhouse, the stables, and the blackberry bushes. Everything Sev had ever known. He followed the road, trying to catch up with the villagers . . . but it wasn’t until nightfall, when he still hadn’t reached the safe house or seen the back of their wagons, that he realized he’d gone the wrong way at the fork.

  He wound up at a small village farther down the river, one that was already in the empire’s possession. He was deemed a war orphan, loaded into a wagon with a handful of others, and carted off to Aura Nova. He’d learned quickly that being an animage in the empire was a very bad thing, and so he’d hidden his true identity. He’d learned other things too . . . how to go unnoticed—whether it was from the larger boys at the orphanage, looking for sport, or from the soldiers on the street, looking to meet their quota—how to beg, borrow, and steal. He’d also learned how to look the other way when the old Sev would have stood up and fought.

  He learned how to be a coward.

  In some ways, he’d been running ever since that last day on the farm—following his parents’ instructions at last. Run and hide. Stay safe.

  Eventually it was hunger that got him captured, not his magic. He’d been caught stealing from a baker’s cart, and as he ran from the proprietor’s outstretched hand, he’d collided with a loaded merchant’s wagon. The carthorses startled, and the entire wagon tipped over—onto an empire soldier. Looking back, Sev often wondered if he could’ve stopped it if he’d used his magic to calm the horses. But he hadn’t, and someone had lost their life because of it.

  Sev had been charged for the soldier’s murder and hauled to the Aura Nova prison that night. The next morning he was given a choice: be forgiven his crimes and serve for life in the military or work himself to death as a laborer. Sev had heard horror stories about the criminal labor camps, but joining the ranks of the people who’d killed his parents? He had thought it was the hardest decision of his life, choosing to join his enemies in order to survive.

  Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe Kade was right. Maybe he’d made a much worse choice long before in rejecting a part of himself.

  Sev shook his head. It was too late to go back. All he could do now was move forward. He’d had enough of the guilt and the taunts and Trix’s mad plans. Let her tell them what he was; he’d be long gone before any of it mattered. Trix expected him to run at night—it was the logical thing to do—but Sev didn’t much feel like being logical.

  The decision banked the fire burning inside him, and Sev’s mind cleared.

  In the cover of the trees, he watched as t
he campsite came to life, as the llamas were fed and watered and reloaded with their burdens. Tents were packed up, meals eaten, and soon their party began to move out.

  More than once Kade glanced over his shoulder in the general direction of the trees where Sev had disappeared. He whispered questions to Tilla and Corem—asking after him, Sev guessed—but they only shrugged and shook their heads.

  Sev smiled grimly. He might be a terrible soldier and a worse animage, but he knew how to hide.

  When the pack animals drew into a line, Kade at the lead, Sev slipped back out of the trees. The animals always brought up the rear of their convoy, allowing the soldiers to clear a path ahead. There would be plenty of guards walking alongside the animals, keeping watch over their valuable burdens, but right now none were in place. Even the rear guards were not yet in position. The time before the procession moved out was always chaotic, with stragglers and confusion and shouting voices.

  It was perfect.

  Before Sev could overthink or hesitate, he snuck to the back of the line and took the lead reins of the nearest llama, carefully guiding the animal aside. He was loaded with several sacks of grain, plus a few personal packs.

  As the rest of the line moved forward, soldiers catching up as they snaked through the trees, Sev remained still, pretending to fiddle with a harness, allowing them to move past. The grass was thick here, the bushes and brambles growing tightly together, with swaying fronds swishing back and forth as the convoy progressed. Along with heavy crates and barrels stacked high, obscuring the view, it was easy to get lost in the shuffle of bodies and the noise of their departure.

  When no one was looking his way, Sev slipped back into the trees with the llama in tow, disappearing in a flap of ferns and bowing branches.

  His heart hammered in his ears, the thump of adrenaline so loud, he didn’t hear the footsteps of the person who followed him.

  An arrow through the heart, and my world went up in flames.

  - CHAPTER 16 -

  VERONYKA

  THE FIRST FEW DAYS at Azurec’s Eyrie were a blur, though most of what Veronyka did remember revolved around food. Never in her life had she been able to eat as much as she wanted—and even go back for seconds—for every meal of the day, and that wasn’t including the extra sweet cakes and fresh rolls Morra slipped her every time she passed the kitchens. The cook didn’t like to see people who looked underfed—particularly not young Pyraean children.

  It was somewhat of a shock for Veronyka to realize that she’d never been properly full in her whole life. With it came a pang of sadness for the girl she used to be, hungry and scared and alone. Guilt threatened to surface when she remembered that Val was likely still living that way, but she refused to let it take hold. They could have had this life together if Val had ever listened to Veronyka or let her weigh in on their decisions. Veronyka had earned this comfort, and she was determined to enjoy it.

  Her work as a stablehand kept her busy, running errands and tending animals from dawn until dusk, and she was so tired that she usually fell into bed at the end of each day—though she’d had to adjust to doing so in a room with over twenty other people. That also meant shoring up her mental defenses, lest she be plagued with dreams about families, hobbies, and romances that were not her own.

  Her duties took her all over the stronghold and village, and she wasn’t just in charge of mucking out the stables, as she had expected; she was responsible for the welfare of every animal they had. That meant the horses and hunting dogs, the llamas that provided wool and served as beasts of burden, and the pigeons that carried messages across the mountain. They took care of goats, rabbits, chickens, and even the cats that kept the stronghold free of mice and rats.

  It had been strange, at first, to see so many people on a daily basis—stranger still that they were constantly smiling and nodding at her. Most of the servants, guards, and other occupants of the stronghold and village came from either Montascent or Petratec, the closest settlements on Pyrmont. There was the odd person from farther down the mountain—like Veronyka—but recruiting that close to the border was dangerous. By banding together, the people of Montascent and Petratec—who were usually rather isolated and closed off—had access to work and resources, and the Eyrie got the helpers, fighters, and craftspeople they needed without risking exposure.

  The result was a familiar, friendly atmosphere—and Veronyka was surprised how at home she felt. She was used to keeping her head down to avoid notice and sticking close to Val’s shadow, but here she could watch and wonder and ask questions all day long. Veronyka learned more in her first week than she’d learned in years, and very little of it was about animals or magic. She’d caught serious trouble for cutting through Old Ana’s vegetable garden on her very first day, but by her fourth, Old Ana was enlisting her help in pulling up potatoes and mending the wooden trellis that held snaking vines of cucumber and sugar snap peas. It had taken Veronyka days of lurking outside his forge to work up the courage to ask the Ferronese metalsmith about his craft, but she now knew the exact color heated iron should be when it was ready to be worked, as well as the difference between forging, welding, and finishing.

  Best of all, Veronyka spent most of her days outside, not skulking in a cabin. And every time a mounted phoenix soared through the sky on a training exercise or patrol shift, her heart leapt into the air—only to flop back down again. Xephyra should be here with her. They should be soaring through the sky together. Even the thought of joining the Riders someday sent a similar mix of joy and regret flickering through her, as if seeking a new bondmate were a betrayal of Xephyra’s memory.

  She often spotted Tristan among the apprentices, his squared shoulders and stiff jaw visible even at a distance, and Veronyka couldn’t help the stab of resentment the sight of him produced. He’d been so willing to see the worst in her, done everything he could to prove her story false and bar her acceptance here. What if he was telling the other Riders that she was no good and turning them against her? She’d need one of them as a sponsor when the next recruitment came, and all she wanted was a fair chance to prove herself worthy.

  The problem was, she wasn’t the only one.

  There were five stablehands aside from herself, and all of them were animages. She had no doubt that they were awaiting their chance for recruitment, the same as her, and it made for a somewhat tense, competitive environment.

  “Can I help with that?” she asked Petyr one morning several weeks into her time at the Eyrie. They were saddling the new crop of horses the commander had recently purchased and readying them to meet their new riders—the apprentices.

  Petyr, a local boy from Petratec, was struggling to bridle Wind—the most challenging of the horses and Veronyka’s personal favorite—who was lifting his head high like the proud, stubborn creature he was, keeping his mouth firmly out of reach.

  Petyr ignored Veronyka’s offer and instead flipped the nearest barrel upside down and stood atop it to get a better reach. Veronyka bit her tongue, anticipating the trouble right before it happened. Wind obediently lowered his head—only to toss it directly into Petyr’s chest, butting him from his perch. The boy went careening to the ground with a shout, and everyone in the stables looked in their direction.

  Veronyka rushed to help him from the hay-strewn ground while giving Wind a stern, chastising glare over her shoulder.

  Jana came hurrying up, and all it took was one look at the horse in question to give her a sense of what had happened. “Leave Wind to Nyk, Petyr, and help Loran with one of the easier mounts.”

  Neglecting Veronyka’s outstretched hand, Petyr got to his feet and stormed off.

  Veronyka sighed, bending down to scoop up the bridle.

  It was always like this.

  She had established her talent early on, and Jana, who came from a long line of Stellan horse breeders, was quick to use her whenever a challenging situation demanded it. Veronyka was only trying to help, but she could understand how her enthusia
sm—and her skill—might be seen negatively by her peers, who were now constantly overlooked in favor of her. They were trying to prove themselves too, and so Veronyka did her best to ignore when the other stablehands whispered alone together or took their meals without her in the dining hall. She was sure she’d earn their respect—if not their affection—in time. Or at least, she hoped.

  “I guess we’re both everyone’s least favorite, eh, Wind?” she murmured, rubbing her hand along his smooth flank. Digging in her pocket, she held out a carrot she’d begged from Old Ana before she’d arrived for duty that morning.

  Wind perked up, but she held it out of reach. “Only if you’re good,” she chided, showing him the bridle. He huffed through his nostrils, then resentfully bowed his head.

  Veronyka grinned.

  She and the rest of the stablehands guided the horses in a single line—ten of them total—through the village and out to the pastures beyond the wall, near the steps down to the way station. The horses had been purchased from a breeder in the Foothills who specialized in crossing the elegant Stellan bloodlines of the valley with sturdier mountain horses.

  A series of barrels, stones, and other objects had been set up in the open space before the village, and standing off to the side were Tristan and the rest of the apprentices. The moment his gaze landed on Veronyka, he scowled, but his expression shifted at the sight of the horses behind her. The muscles in his jaw clenched while he and the rest of the apprentices shifted and craned their necks, trying to get a better look. A mixed wave of emotions rose up from their group, their excitement, fear, and dread hitting Veronyka like waves lapping at a pier. She’d been keeping her mind guarded ever since her run-in with Morra, but still, spikes of heightened feeling managed to push through her defenses.