Veronyka went to the Eyrie. Not to carry out Tristan’s wishes, but because she didn’t know where else to go. She kicked a water bucket and screamed every curse she’d ever picked up at the Narrows docks or border village cookhouses.
Xephyra cocked her head at Veronyka, curiosity filtering through the bond as she tried to decipher the swear words that Veronyka barely understood herself.
Footsteps approached, and Veronyka knew who it would be.
She got to her feet and stared into the shadows. It was already dark in the depths of the Eyrie, the day’s muted, overcast light quickly fading away.
“What do you want, Val?” she demanded as soon as her sister emerged from the stairwell. She halted at Veronyka’s words.
“Don’t be angry with me because your precious Tristan didn’t want you fighting by his side. I told you this would happen, Veronyka. I told you these aren’t our people.”
Val meant to wound her on purpose, Veronyka knew that, and still her words cut deep—because there was truth in them. Tristan didn’t want her by his side.
“Tell me what happened to maiora Ilithya that day,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“What?” Val asked, frowning, though Veronyka knew it was a performance. She hadn’t seen her, but she felt strangely certain that Val had been there hiding somewhere out of sight when Sev arrived. Val was like the rain—sometimes, when Veronyka paid attention, she could feel her presence like an ache in her bones.
“That soldier said he was working with a woman called Ilithya,” Veronyka said, pointing up to the courtyard. “He said she was a bondservant and—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Veronyka. There must be hundreds of women with that name.”
“Ilithya Shadowheart.” There, a flicker—something shifting in Val’s eyes. Veronyka wished she knew how to properly use shadow magic, so she could reach out and snatch the truth from her sister’s head. “Our grandmother. You told me she was dead.”
Val actually rolled her eyes. “She was not our grandmother, xe Nyka. You know that.” She paused, chewing her lip. “She was dead to us either way. Her bondage was a life sentence.”
Veronyka squeezed her eyes shut, her blood pounding in her ears. All those years, lost. They could have looked her up, found where she was working and tried to visit her. They could have written her letters. They could have done anything—anything and everything was better than the nothing they had actually done.
“I know you’re upset, Veronyka,” Val said, her tone soothing. “Everything has come undone. But this is for the best. Fate led these soldiers here; they were guided by Anyanke’s own hand. I’ve tried to be patient, to give you as much time as possible, but this is what I’ve been waiting for—this is our chance to escape. To get both you and your bondmate out of this cage the Riders have built for you. Now, while they’re distracted with the defense preparations, we’ll free your phoenix and escape. We’ll free the other females too, if we can manage it, and then we’ll sneak out through the underground service entrance.”
Veronyka stared at her sister. As a child, Veronyka always said that Avalkyra Ashfire was her hero, the person she most wanted to be like. But in truth, Val had been the one she’d looked up to. Whenever they were in trouble, she knew Val would get them out of it—and she did, though Veronyka often disagreed with her methods. Val had always seemed fearless, and maybe that was what Veronyka most admired.
Now she couldn’t help but look at her sister and see a coward. It wasn’t fearlessness that guided her sister; it was selfishness.
Veronyka thought of her maiora, who had sacrificed herself so the girls could run to safety. Even at her lowest point—her family lost, her phoenix gone, her life in bondage, and her queen dead—she still fought.
That was what a warrior did, a true Phoenix Rider. Val and the others were wrong. It wasn’t some rank to be earned, some standard to be met or a legacy to be lived up to. Phoenix Riders were the protectors of their people, warriors of light, and right now the empire soldiers represented the darkness come to swallow them whole.
Maybe Veronyka had been wrong to look up to Val and the Feather-Crowned Queen. Maybe she’d had a much better hero, her maiora, all along.
“Nyk?”
A voice echoed down from the stairwell. Both sisters jumped, but Val recovered first. She stepped backward, gaze darting around, as if looking for a place to hide—or a position to attack from.
Ersken had left a stack of storage crates lined up next to the enclosure. Val trailed a hand along the makeshift wall, then, discovering a narrow opening between the boxes, slipped into it and vanished.
“Val, where are you—” Veronyka began, but she froze when Tristan emerged from the mouth of the stairs. He strode purposefully toward her, but faltered halfway, his expression wary.
Veronyka tried, but she couldn’t conceal the pain the sight of him produced. Everything else faded away, and it was like she was back in the courtyard again.
“Why?” she demanded, swallowing around the lump in her throat.
The sky was a dark, dusky gray, and the flickering lanterns on the gallery above—along with the reddish glow from the lit phoenix beacon—limned Tristan in a halo of red and gold. His face was shadowed, but when he took another wary step forward, his grim features came into clearer view.
“Look,” he began hesitantly. “This wasn’t . . . I didn’t—I made a mistake.” Veronyka blinked in surprise. He looked around, as if trying to find words, and then gripped his hair with both hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Can’t you see that?” he practically shouted, his composure crumpling. “I don’t how to run this place, and what if the commander—my father—never comes back?”
The words were strangled, and seeing his anguished expression, Veronyka extended herself to him. It was instinctual, like reaching for a knife that was falling, even though she knew it was dangerous. But for some reason, reopening the channel between them didn’t feel wrong or forbidden in this instance. It felt right, like it did when she connected with Xephyra. It wasn’t about spying or controlling; it was about empathy—about sharing in his pain.
That was the difference between her and Val, she realized. Val used her knowledge as a weapon, to hurt, always seeking out weaknesses and ways to exploit them. Veronyka used her shadow magic to understand those around her, and it provided her with compassion and insight.