Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  “Not for nothing,” Sev said fiercely. “We’re both here—both still alive. We’ll take them together.”

  “There are soldiers everywhere. If they—”

  “Exactly,” Sev interrupted, “and I’m one of them.”

  Kade reached for an egg, then hesitated. “Sev, I . . .”

  “Load up a bag,” Sev insisted, “and we’ll carry them together. If we’re stopped, I’ll tell them I’m under orders. Come on, quickly.”

  Kade nodded, looking around for something to pack the eggs into.

  Sev jogged up the slope, retrieving a satchel from one of the llamas. He emptied what he could and held it open for Kade to load.

  The eggs were about the size of one of Sev’s hands, and as heavy as true stones. With twelve of them packed together, the straps cut deep grooves into Kade’s skin as he slung it over his shoulder.

  Arms and legs tingling with adrenaline, Sev straightened and took in their surroundings. The river was the outermost boundary of their camp, enclosing them on its eastern side. If they followed it south, away from the falls, they could find a place where it was narrow enough to cross. Then, once over the water, they could proceed more quickly, deep into the wilderness, praying to Teyke that no other soldier parties were descending on the camp tonight.

  Judging by what Sev had gathered from their attack plans, in order to find the Rider lair, they needed to travel northeast. Hopefully they’d find it—or be spotted by Rider scouts—and be able to warn them before the soldiers regrouped.

  “You, mageslave!” a voice called out, stopping them in their tracks.

  Kade was walking just to the side of Sev, but his size—and the chain on his neck—made him stand out. Sev bristled, his patience with that word all but evaporated. Then a warm hand gripped his arm, as if Kade could sense that Sev meant to do something stupid. He flashed a warning look, and with a shaky breath, Sev nodded and turned to face the coming soldiers.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice taut with suppressed anger. He angled his body in front of Kade’s, hoping to take the brunt of their attention. Luckily, these soldiers were strangers from the newly arrived group and not people who knew him as a meek idiot.

  “Yeah, there’s a problem. You not seen the campsite?”

  There were two of them, the glow from the cook fires behind casting their faces into shadow.

  “ ’Course,” Sev said, shrugging dismissively. “That’s why I’m taking this one upstream for fresh water. Captain’s orders.”

  “What’s wrong with the water here?” asked the smaller of the two, jerking a thumb at the stream directly behind Sev and Kade.

  “Yeah, and where’s your bucket?” added the other.

  “Have you seen what those soldiers back there are doing near the water?” Sev asked, going for affability, though his throat was dry. “The captain didn’t want to risk it, so we’re going farther upstream. And what d’you think’s in the bag?” he asked, giving Kade a dismissive nod, and hating himself for it. “Rocks?”

  The soldiers chuckled, loosening their stances.

  “We best be off,” Sev said, knowing that the longer they remained speaking to these soldiers, the worse their chances would be of getting away. “Don’t want to keep the captain waiting.”

  He turned, not allowing them a chance to argue, and with a nudge to Kade, began to walk back the way they’d come. Once the soldiers had moved on, they’d have to figure out another way to cross the river.

  “Wait,” the taller one called, and Sev turned, his hand clenching against Kade’s tunic. “Which captain?”

  Sev swallowed. “Captain Belden,” he said—what else could he say? He didn’t know who was in charge of the arriving party.

  “Captain Belden?” the man repeated, his voice sharp. The short one’s hand dropped to his belt. “Captain Belden is indisposed. When did he give you this order?”

  Sev’s heart skipped a beat, and he sensed Kade’s muscles tense under his hand.

  As Sev searched for what to say, a breath of air slipped across his neck, carrying Kade’s voice with it. He felt the words before he heard them, the world slowing around him, all his senses hyperaware.

  He felt the heavy thump of Kade’s satchel hitting the earth, heard the intake of breath and crunch of gravel underfoot as he tore off, and smelled the last dregs of him disappear in the gust of wind he left in his wake.

  Though Sev seemed to experience it all in some frozen, crystalline moment, the soldiers bolted after Kade at top speed. They forgot Sev entirely, seeing the running bondservant as the only threat, and leaving Sev standing alone in the middle of the forest.

  Kade ran like a Stellan horse, an agile blur as he leapt obstacles and slipped between trees. His pursuers shouted, their voices swallowed in the swish and snap of the undergrowth.

  Sev became aware of his body, poised to run after Kade, to help him as he ran for his life. But then Kade’s words came back to him, rattling around his head like precious, forgotten gems inside an empty jar.

  “You know what you have to do,” he’d said, before dropping the bag and running off.

  Sev looked down at the satchel at his feet.

  You know what you have to do.

  Kade had sacrificed himself, leading them away from Sev and away from the precious phoenix eggs. Sev had to warn the Riders that the soldiers were coming; he had to get the eggs there safely.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, barely daring to breathe as he listened for a grunt of pain or a shout of triumph that would tell him Kade had been taken down. But the campsite was too loud, and his blood rushed in his ears, louder even than the waterfalls, drowning out all other sounds.

  Bending down on shaky legs, Sev hoisted the satchel over his shoulder. It was even heavier than he’d expected, and he knew it would be a challenge to carry it across camp, never mind across the mountainside.

  Then he thought of Trix. She would know what to do, if she was still alive. She would fix everything. He would give her the phoenix eggs, and once the eggs were safe, he could go looking for Kade. Kade was smart, capable. . . . He could outrun the soldiers, fight them like he had Ott and Jotham, or hide until the coast was clear. Sev just had to find Trix, and everything would be all right again.

  He cut back up the sloping hill, skirting groups of soldiers hunched over and retching, and slipping past the cave of supplies, where more soldiers were cutting open sacks and upending barrels. The noise muffled his footsteps, allowing him to pass unnoticed.

  Up ahead, the captain’s tent loomed.

  If Belden was “indisposed,” as the other soldier had put it, that meant that Trix’s plan had succeeded—that he had eaten some of the poison. With any luck, she would be somewhere nearby, planning her next move.

  There was plenty of action around the captain’s tent, soldiers coming and going, bearing platters of food and casks of wine to check for poison. Sev hastily crouched out of sight in the trees, peering inside through the half-open flap.

  The attendant who served Belden his meals was on the ground, blood pooling on the woven mats. Food was splattered along the tent walls and across the tabletop, while Belden held a massive ax in both hands. The weapon dwarfed his wiry frame, and the weight of it caused his muscles to strain as he leveled it toward a bondservant, forced onto her knees before him while a soldier held her arms behind her back.

  Sev’s stomach lurched. The bondservant was Trix, and the razor edge of the ax rested just below her throat.

  A trickle of blood oozed from the corner of her mouth, and an already purpling bruise spread across her cheek. Her eyes reflected the light of the brazier, and even on her knees, her face was proud and her chin held high. She would die a warrior’s death by ax point, just as her beloved Bellatrix had done.

  Belden was screaming at her, the words difficult to hear over the commotion all around them. Spit was flying from his mouth, and he kept pausing to clutch his stomach and gag.

  Sev shifted slightl
y, trying to get a better view, and Trix’s eyes latched on to him. They flitted over him, around him—looking for Kade, Sev guessed—until she saw the bulky satchel over his shoulder, the round, smooth objects straining against the leather. Relief flooded her features. Then she narrowed her eyes before flicking her gaze to the side, an almost imperceptible expression, but Sev understood well enough: Go.

  Sev wavered. There must be a way to help her. He couldn’t leave Trix to die. He couldn’t walk away from her the way he’d been forced to walk away too many times before: from his parents, from Kade.

  He cast about the tent for ideas or options, but Trix would have none of it. Her nostrils flared, and she looked to the side once more, her eyes bulging with urgency.

  Sev clenched his teeth and shook his head. No. This was all wrong. He was supposed to be the one to die, the one who was risking his life. Why did everyone else have to go and leave him all alone?

  Belden drew nearer, and Trix looked up at him, her lips twisting into a sneer—no, a smile. A terrible, deadly smile, her teeth red with blood.

  “She lives,” Trix announced, and though she faced Belden, her gaze fell upon Sev. She pinned him with her stare, as sharp as a knife. “Avalkyra Ashfire lives. And she will burn your beloved empire to the ground.”

  A shiver slipped down Sev’s back at Trix’s bloody proclamation. The captain lurched forward with a snarl, and in a great, sweeping arc, he lifted his ax and brought it down over the back of Trix’s neck. It clanked against her chain before lodging deep in her spine, going down with her as she crumpled to the ground. Blood splattered everywhere, and after jerking the weapon violently from her body, he brought it down again. And again. Her corpse twitched with every strike, until Belden tossed the ax aside and bent over to vomit onto the ground.

  Sev tried to do the same. His stomach clenched and his insides heaved, but nothing came up. His throat was so tight that he could barely breathe, and his limbs were numb with shock.

  Turning away from the harrowing sight of Trix’s mangled, lifeless body, Sev staggered backward, tripping over branches and stumbling through the darkness. She lives. Did Trix really mean that, or was she trying to get a rise out of Captain Belden? She’d told Sev how both sisters died in the Blood War. It didn’t make any sense.

  The bag on his shoulder weighed Sev down, physically and mentally, as he forced himself away from it all—away from the blood and the death and the knowledge that Trix would never see another phoenix again.

  You know what you have to do.

  Sev had to warn the Riders; he had to get the eggs to safety.

  Shouts rang out, loud and nearer than the rest—had they seen him? Sev didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate, just ran as fast as he could through the forest. Footsteps—were those his, or a pursuer’s?—echoed in his ears, along with crackling leaves and snapping twigs.

  He came upon a small clearing with thick grass and gnarled roots underfoot. At the far end was a cliff that hung over an expanse of black. It was so dark, Sev couldn’t be certain of the drop or what was at the bottom—more soft grass? The river? Or was it a trench of jagged, life-ending rocks?

  You know what you have to do.

  More shouting, more footsteps. Sev wasn’t moving, and the sounds were getting closer. The clang of drawn weapons and the thrum of a released bowstring. Something thudded into Sev’s shoulder, and the momentum made the decision for him. Searing pain ripped through his body, pushing the breath from his lungs, and his heart flew into his throat as he tumbled blindly over the edge.

  In ancient Pyra there was a position of great prestige in service to the queen. Unlike her flaming warriors, who stood blazing and bright by her side, this person worked in the darkness, in the shadows cast by such shining lights.

  A poison brewer, a whisper catcher—a spymaster. This person moved unseen, unnoticed among the Pyraean ranks of fighting queens and flying heroes. As such, their deeds are often lost to history, and even their names exist in no surviving record books—except one. Shadowheart.

  Pyraean surnames are either inherited through ancient lineage and powerful magical bloodlines, or they are earned. A Shadowheart could rise up from the lowliest of births and stand proud among the queen’s most loyal servants.

  It is said that when the empire was founded, the position of Shadowheart was no longer utilized. The council demanded transparency, so such clandestine affairs were no longer tolerated.

  Then again, it is the nature of the Shadowheart to be unknown and unremembered. Perhaps they have been here all along.

  —“Queen and Council,” from Government, Then and Now by Olbek, High Priest of Mori, published 137 AE

  I would have given her everything. Everything.

  - CHAPTER 33 -

  VERONYKA

  ERSKEN WAS BY VERONYKA’S side for the remainder of the day, giving her no opportunity to sit with Xephyra and explain their circumstances. Maybe Xephyra was happy here, or maybe she was desperate to leave. Veronyka wanted to know. There was so much she’d missed out on, weeks of their lives together lost.

  Though she was eager to have some alone time with Xephyra, Veronyka wasn’t thrilled at the idea of burdening her bondmate with the harsh realities of what being in the breeding cages would mean. She’d just have to take it slow and get a sense of how Xephyra was feeling before she caused more pain and fear. Her phoenix needed some time to recover. They both did.

  Veronyka figured her best chance to spend time alone with Xephyra would be after nightfall, when the majority of the stronghold’s occupants retired. She wiled away her evening in the kitchens, begging food from Morra and helping where she could. When Tristan entered the dining hall, she watched him as he craned his neck and scanned the tables, only to drop dejectedly into a seat next to the other apprentices. Was he looking for her? The thought made her ache.

  Later, when the stronghold was quiet, Veronyka made her way back to the Eyrie. She was halfway down the steps to the enclosure when a sudden tremor rippled through the bond.

  Xephyra.

  Veronyka pressed a hand to the wall, steadying herself, and turned inward. She found the place in her mind where Xephyra’s connection lived, but the thoughts and sensations funneling through were muddled and incoherent. Veronyka had forgotten what it was like to have a bond, to keep a part of yourself open at all times, and perhaps Xephyra had lost that instinct as well. All Veronyka could discern was that Xephyra was being fitted with a leash again. What was happening?

  At the bottom of the stairs, Veronyka slowed her pace, willing herself to relax. Maybe Ersken allowed them an evening fly as well as an afternoon one. Maybe this was normal.

  Still, her heart was a wild thing inside her chest—and not just because of the dozens of stairs she’d just run. Xephyra’s confusion was her own, and the sensation reminded Veronyka all too much of the moments before Val had poisoned her.

  Pausing just inside the shadows of the gallery, Veronyka peered down into the courtyard below.

  Ersken was standing next to Commander Cassian, facing the enclosure as if watching a show. They murmured together, but Veronyka couldn’t hear them or see what they were looking at from her vantage point. Xephyra was calm for now, but it didn’t change the feelings of unease she was emitting.

  Instead of continuing down the stairs and entering the courtyard, Veronyka edged along the gallery. At last she saw Xephyra, but she wasn’t in the enclosure with the other two females.

  She was in the matching enclosure next to them.

  A hand dropped onto her shoulder, and Veronyka whirled, her heart jumping into her throat.

  Tristan stood in the shadows just behind her, a frown on his face. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked softly. His eyes raked her face, taking in the details of her strained expression and the way she kept looking down at the enclosure below. “What are you doing?”

  He followed her line of sight and spotted Xephyra, separated from the other females. His face hardened.

  “Th
at’s why he asked me to come down here . . . ,” he muttered.

  The questions bubbled up in her throat, but she didn’t speak them—she already knew the answer. Veronyka hadn’t given the second enclosure much thought earlier today, but it was clearly used for mating. A tremor rippled through Veronyka’s body. She thought she’d have weeks to figure this out, but it had been less than a day.

  “No,” Veronyka whispered, her voice faint. She craned her neck, seeking Xephyra, reaching through the bond. “She’s too young. She’s never . . . She’s not—” Veronyka was blathering, but Tristan cut her off.

  “I know,” he said grimly. He stared at her and seemed to come to a decision. He turned away and strode down the steps.

  “Tristan, you’re late,” the commander said by way of greeting. “Call Rex down, and let’s get on with this.”

  “Don’t you think this is a bit quick?” Tristan asked, coming to stand in front of his father but making no move to follow his orders and call his bondmate. “The phoenix was captured yesterday. She’s clearly young and frightened,” he said, pointing at Xephyra, though at that moment, she looked nothing so much as politely curious.

  Biting her lip, Veronyka reached out to Xephyra. She didn’t want to actually scare her, but instead she simply asked: Xephyra, do you trust me?

  The answer was swift as breath. Not a word, exactly, but a feeling.

  Yes.

  Warmth spread inside Veronyka’s chest. Soon she wouldn’t even need to ask; soon they would be completely in sync again.

  Smiling, she asked her bondmate to have a bit of a tantrum. She was happy to oblige, squawking indignantly and flapping her wings so her chain rattled.

  Tristan seemed puzzled by her abrupt change in attitude, but also pleased, gesturing to the phoenix as she proved his point. “Her wound has barely even healed. Do you really think this is a conducive environment for breeding?”

  “Ersken has measured her tail feathers. Their length indicates an age between three to six months. She is fully mature.”