Crown of Feathers
Page 44
As Veronyka made her way toward the Eyrie, she took in the devastation. All around her was pain, some people and animals moving under their own power, others being helped or carried. It turned out the male phoenix who had been circling mournfully above the village—Xoe’s son—was bonded to Latham, who thus far been unable to get him to return to the Eyrie.
Veronyka was relieved to step through the archway, where crates of bandages, food, and water had been laid out for the returning phoenixes and their bondmates.
Ersken awaited them there, Sparrow by his side.
She was weeping.
In her cupped hands she held Chirp, blood staining his soft brown feathers. He was utterly still, his small feet curled up against his stiff, round body. The sight reminded Veronyka of Xephyra’s death, and the throb of devastation Sparrow projected mingled painfully with the memory of her own.
Ersken turned his wide, gentle eyes on the girl, but her face was bowed toward her sparrow. She couldn’t actually see her fallen friend, but her pose and expression said it all.
Sparrow’s grief was a quiet storm, but when Ersken tried to take the dead bird from her, she practically snarled.
Veronyka stepped in. Patting Ersken’s arm reassuringly, she took Sparrow by the shoulder and guided her toward a crate to sit on.
“Sparrow, it’s me,” she whispered. “Do you remember? It’s—”
“Veronyka?” Sparrow said, her head snapping up.
“Yes,” Veronyka said, keeping her voice low, though nobody was in earshot. “Yes, it’s me.”
Sparrow tilted her head, sniffing loudly. “Didn’t hear you, without those bits and beads making a racket.” Veronyka’s hand ran through her bedraggled, apparently quiet, hair. “And no Chirp to . . . to . . .” Her voice wobbled, and her face crumpled as fresh tears made tracks down her dirty cheeks.
Veronyka’s own vision went blurry, but she quickly blinked the tears away and put her arm around Sparrow, holding her tight. “I know,” she said softly. “And I’m so, so sorry.”
Veronyka couldn’t shake the clinging guilt that gripped her heart. It was her idea to involve the animals of the stronghold. . . . It was her fault Chirp had died.
She was reminded of the first time she’d seen a dead animal, a mouse that had followed her as she’d crossed a busy Aura Nova street and gotten trampled. She’d wept and blamed herself, but her maiora would have none of it.
“You take something from them when you do that,” she’d said, all stern affection and wisdom. “As if the poor creature didn’t have a mind of its own. Did you command it to follow you? Did you rob it of its free will?”
Veronyka had stopped crying long enough to shake her head.
“No. Then that fellow made his own choice, and we should honor him for it.”
And then they’d wrapped his body in Veronyka’s finest scarf and placed him into the flames of their hearth, burning him in a “true warrior’s pyre,” as her maiora called it. Val had walked in, asked what they were doing, then scoffed and walked back out again, but Veronyka and her grandmother had remained until the last log burned low.
Veronyka had thought about how she would feel if she had commanded the mouse to follow, as her sister did to animals all the time. She never wanted that kind of power over another living thing, and she’d vowed never to steal another creature’s free will.
Now, among the death and devastation that surrounded her, Veronyka took a steadying breath. Chirp had fought because he loved Sparrow, just as the rest of the animals had loved the humans that fed and cared for them. She would not take credit for their bravery but instead honor their memory.
Their sacrifice had kept her, Sparrow, and everyone else alive.
“It’s just,” Sparrow said, hiccupping and wiping the back of her hand across her nose. “Chirp is—was—my only friend in the whole world.”
Silent sobs shook her small frame, and Veronyka squeezed her shoulders harder. “Chirp was a special friend, and brave as a phoenix, but he wasn’t your only friend. What about me?”
Sparrow lifted her head, her wide eyes wet with tears. “Are we friends?”
“Of course,” Veronyka said easily, as if she were an expert on friendship and hadn’t made her first very recently. It was nice to think that she now had a second. She smiled, though she knew Sparrow couldn’t see it. Hopefully she could feel it.
Sparrow beamed. “Chirp did like you . . . ,” she said matter-of-factly, as if his approval was all she needed.
“Good. I liked him, too.”
When she spotted Ersken squinting through the crowd of phoenixes, as if looking for someone, Veronyka told Sparrow she had some work to do, and extricated herself. Sparrow seemed calmer, lying down on her side with Chirp against her chest and closing her eyes as if for sleep.
Pulling Ersken aside, Veronyka relayed the news about Xoe and Xatara.
“Xoe died protecting the village gate. Shot down with arrows. Afterward Xatara fled.”
“I . . . I see,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. “I’ll send someone to gather the body. There’s a chance . . .” He trailed off. “We’ll burn her, along with the rest of our fallen warriors.”
He glanced at Sparrow, with Chirp’s body beside her, then at the small row of dead dogs, cats, and pigeons that were being laid out on the massive phoenix plinth. Back in the stronghold, Veronyka had seen a similar thing being done with the dead human bodies—fallen warriors, like Ersken said. Veronyka couldn’t bear to look closely, to recognize a familiar face.
She knew she should be grateful, that it was a miracle so many of them had survived this night when the odds were so dangerously stacked against them. But it was hard to feel anything more than heartbreak.
While everyone was busy tending their own bondmates or helping with the wounded, Veronyka pushed her way through the mass of feathery bodies and hugged Xephyra tight. She was proud and amazed at her phoenix’s daring during the battle and how well she’d assimilated into their group. The males had some sense of her, of this “other” presence within their familiar flock, but after fighting together, it seemed they’d accepted her as one of them. Veronyka could only hope that she would be given the same treatment.
As Xephyra drank from a trough, Veronyka grabbed several bundles of fresh fruit wrapped in leaves. She left half with her phoenix and took the rest to Rex, who was perched on the outside ledge, away from the commotion. He was subdued, looking small and forlorn all by himself, but made no move to join in with the others.
Before Veronyka could do more than pick her way over, a shadow flew over her head, and Xephyra landed on the ledge next to him.
Rex bristled slightly, but Xephyra kept her distance, cocking her head back and forth, studying him. Veronyka wondered if her phoenix sensed something from Rex, some element of the bizarre connection that linked Veronyka to Tristan.
After rustling his good wing and puffing up his feathers, Rex settled somewhat, and Xephyra seemed to take it as an invitation to move closer. She had something in her beak, and when she was close enough, she bowed her head and dropped one of the fruit bundles Veronyka had given her on the ground next to Rex.
Rex’s golden beak roved over the package before picking through the leaves for the fruit within. Veronyka looked down at the food in her hand, apparently no longer needed, and grinned.
Xephyra’s compassion filtered through the bond, warming Veronyka’s chest.
You’ll keep an eye on him? she asked, hastily examining the bandage over Rex’s wound. It was clean and wrapped tightly—more to stop him from using his wing and slowing the healing process—and she knew he’d recover soon.
Xephyra squawked in response, settling down next to Rex. The sight of it made Veronyka’s heart swell.
Her duties done, she sagged against the wall near the entrance to the Eyrie, where several others were doing the same. She was tired, but her exhaustion was so deep and constant that she’d forgotten what it was like to be without it.
Veronyka could find her, of course. Val had shown her how. They had a permanent connection between them, which meant that she could find Val almost anywhere, like she could with her bondmate. Time strengthened that ability, and Veronyka wasn’t sure how long the link between her and Val had been in place. Not that it mattered. Val couldn’t have gone far.
Is this the slippery slope? she wondered idly, settling more comfortably onto the ground as she turned her focus inward, searching for their connection. There was always a reason to use shadow magic, but Veronyka had to trust herself and her own instincts. The magic had served her well in the battle, and though it irked her to admit it, she had to know Val was safe.
As soon as Veronyka closed her eyes, she felt Val in her mind. Her sister wasn’t actually there, but rather, the link between them left traces of her even when she was gone. It was as if the doorway was a piece of Val, hidden out of sight but ready to connect with whenever Veronyka needed it.
She pressed against it, marveling at the fact that it had been there all along, an itching, nagging presence that she simply hadn’t recognized for what it was.
Opening the channel between them wasn’t as easy as it had been with Tristan. He didn’t have shadow magic and didn’t truly understand how to guard himself. Val, on the other hand, was a fortress.
The barrier between them was dense and unforgiving—a door made of thickest iron, bolted and barricaded and utterly impenetrable unless you had the key. The effort of trying to break through nearly robbed Veronyka of her consciousness.
Nice try, xe Nyka, said Val’s calm, amused voice inside her head. Veronyka hadn’t managed to open the door, but her attempts had obviously drawn Val’s attention, and she spoke to Veronyka as if she were standing right on the other side. But you never had the stomach for mind games.
Where are you? Veronyka asked, still unable to see anything beyond the door.
Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you know it, came Val’s response, and already she was pulling away. Desperate, Veronyka reached for Val with all her strength, catching her off guard. There was a moment of unencumbered connection, a single, clear image seen through Val’s eyes, before she severed their contact.
It was only a glimpse of her surroundings, but it was enough.
Despite all Val had done, all the ways she’d hurt Veronyka, the night’s battle had changed things. Veronyka had seen too much death to let her sister walk away from her forever—not without a proper goodbye.
The image she’d seen through Val’s eyes had been a large, low-ceilinged room filled with boxes and barrels. A storage room. Val had likely been stealing supplies when Veronyka made contact with her, and if she hurried, she’d catch her sister before she escaped.
Veronyka found the cellar several floors below the kitchens, at the bottom of a winding stone stair. It was dark and windowless, perfect for keeping food and perishable items.
As soon as Veronyka entered, she knew it was the same room she’d seen in Val’s mind.
Only, Val wasn’t there.
Veronyka turned to leave when she noticed what looked like wheel marks along the floor, leading out from the back of the room.
She followed the tracks but came up against a stone wall. She frowned, but then remembered Val’s words from earlier in the evening:
We’ll sneak out through the underground service entrance.
Maybe it wasn’t a wall at all.
Veronyka pressed both hands against the cool stone surface and pushed.
The tunnel that led out from the storage room was long and dark, unlit by lanterns or torches. There were several offshoots, probably leading up to the stables and maybe even into the Eyrie itself.
Veronyka pushed blindly forward, all the while straining with her senses, both physical and magical. A haze of diffuse light came into view as she neared the end, the barest hints of early morning sunlight streaming through a tangle of fragrant bushes over the entrance. With a bit of prodding, she discovered a metal grate with a concealed latch that allowed her to move the obstruction aside.
She wedged a piece of stone into the gap as she let the gate fall back into place, and the doorway all but disappeared, hidden behind thick hanging vines and wide green leaves. The ground in front of it was hard stone, the kind of firm surface that wouldn’t reveal wagon tracks or hoofprints.
As she took in the landscape, trying to get her bearings, Veronyka felt a tingle of awareness. She whirled around to see Val perched on the rock overtop the tunnel, an arrow notched and ready to fire. She held the weapon confidently—no tremor in her arms or uncertainty in her stance—and Veronyka wondered when she’d learned to be an expert archer.
“What do you want, Veronyka?” she asked, bow steady. “I’ve a lot of ground to cover before dark.”
Veronyka swallowed. What did she want? “I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Val kept the weapon pointed at her a moment longer before releasing a snort of disbelief and lowering it. “I thought you hated me.”
She said the words callously, as if they were a joke, but Veronyka could feel the hurt in her sister’s voice and sense the anger simmering just below the surface.
“I don’t hate you, Val,” she said. Even after everything, she didn’t. She didn’t think she ever could. Veronyka had lost so much in her life, she couldn’t willingly reject the last bit of her family, of her childhood, she had left.
Val nodded, playing with the fletching on her arrow. She’d managed to steal a bow and full quiver, a shoulder pack—likely filled with stolen supplies—and a smaller, cross-body satchel. Whatever it held, it was heavy, straining against the fabric and digging into Val’s flesh.
Seeing Veronyka’s line of sight, she shifted, casting her gaze in the direction of the Eyrie. “You should get back, Veronyka. They’ll be looking for you.”
Veronyka nodded, but she didn’t move. “Where will you go?” She thought about offering to talk to Tristan, to Commander Cassian, or even to Ersken. Her sister could be a valuable asset to any of them, but she knew Val would never accept and that it would be a terrible idea besides.
Though Veronyka took care to guard her mind, Val’s lips quirked into a smile, as if Veronyka were projecting her thoughts for all the world to hear.
“I think I’ll make for the ruins of Aura and the Everlasting Flame,” Val said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. They say the queens of old linger there, whispering their stories for anyone brave enough to hear them.”
A flicker of longing sparked to life inside Veronyka. She realized with sudden finality that even if Val did make it there—the way was notoriously treacherous, the roads and bridges collapsed and crumbled with age, and the very summit reachable only on phoenix-back—and she heard those ancient secrets, Veronyka would never know. She wouldn’t be waiting at home next to the hearth, eager for Val’s return. They would never share their lives that way again.
She hesitated, knowing her sister would scoff at her next words, but she said them anyway. “Be careful.”
Val smiled, the bright morning sun turning her auburn hair to fire. “I’ve been through much, much worse, xe Nyka. One day you’ll understand.”
“I want to understand now,” Veronyka said, taking a step forward. Val was the kind of person who never really let you in. You could talk to her day after day, year after year, spend your entire life together and still not truly know her. If this was going to be the last time Veronyka ever saw her sister, she wanted to find something true about her, something more than just her callous nature and darkly burning heart. “Tell me.”
Val studied her for a long time. “I can’t tell you,” she said with a resolute shake of her head.
Veronyka wilted, the walls between them—magical, physical, and emotional—as impenetrable as always.
Bu
t I can show you, Val said.
The world around Veronyka disappeared, the walls she’d just lamented completely obliterated. Suddenly, she was in one of her dreams, the scene playing out before her waking eyes.
She sat at the head of a long wooden table, oil lamps casting pools of light over its surface. Across from her was the same girl who was always at her side in these visions. She was a young woman now, her deep-set eyes shadowed and wary.
Other people filled the room, but dream-Veronyka wasn’t interested in them. She stared intently, fixedly, at the girl, noticing every breath and sigh of movement. She seemed paler than usual and pressed a hand to her stomach as if she might be sick. She kept glancing toward the corner of the room, where a guard stood by the door. Maybe she was nervous and his presence reassured her. Or maybe she wanted to note how far the door was, in case she had to make a run for the chamber pot.
When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a seemingly innocuous gesture—rage boiled in Veronyka’s veins. The girl’s hair was glossy, straight—and unbraided. This was a recent development, Veronyka sensed, and as she took in the surrounding people once more, she noticed a distinct difference between those who clustered around the girl across from her and the ones who stood near Veronyka.
Those around the girl wore the robes of council members, which included a mix of provincial governors and noble lords. Veronyka could make out the golden thread embroidered on their chests, indicating their positions: scales for the Minister of Law or overlapping circles for the Minister of Coin. One or two appeared to be military, their short hair, stiff postures, and colored sashes marking them as ranking soldiers in the army.
The people attending Veronyka in the dream were also important and high ranking—but certainly of a different sort. They were Phoenix Riders every one, wearing armguards and riding leathers, with shining obsidian beads and bright phoenix feathers hanging from their braided hair.