Each braid marked a memory of their lives together, woven in a living tapestry, forever binding them.
When Val’s breathing turned steady, Veronyka released her hair, sat up, and crept toward the fire. Quietly she picked through the embers at the edge of the hearth, the phoenix watching curiously. Veronyka saw flickers of its mind through their bond—a series of sights, sounds, and sensations—that made the world around her feel brighter and more interesting. The phoenix was too young to form any real thoughts or reflections, but already its presence was reassuring to her.
When she found what she was looking for—parts of curving, jagged phoenix shell—Veronyka carefully selected a piece that wasn’t too sharp. Setting it aside, she found the small box of thread and wax that she used to maintain her and her sister’s hair. There was a wooden comb inside as well, plus twine, needles, a file, and other small tools. Veronyka unearthed the file, carefully wearing down the sharp edges of the eggshell, which was a good deal thicker than regular bird shells. Then she used a needle to carefully twist a hole through the thickest part, as she’d seen her grandmother do with the delicate river shells from the Fingers.
Finally, she pulled forth a chunk of loose hair from the nape of her neck. She wasn’t hiding it, exactly, but she didn’t want the braid to be too noticeable in case it made Val angry. Surely she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that Veronyka had a bondmate and she did not.
For now.
According to Val, the bonding process began before the phoenix even hatched, which was why it was important to remain close during the entire incubation period. Each phoenix chose their bondmate before they entered the world, making a magical connection before a physical one. And for some reason the first phoenix had chosen her.
Veronyka worked hand-warmed wax through her hair before she began braiding, the familiar twisting motions soothing some of her remorse.
Val would forgive her—she always did. Soon the second egg would hatch, and everything would be right again. They’d raise their phoenixes together and become Riders just as their parents—and their grandmother—had been.
The thought lit a fire in Veronyka’s belly.
With phoenixes, she and Val would be able to travel all over the empire with ease. They’d have to be careful, of course, but soon they’d find others like them—phoenixaeres in hiding. The empire couldn’t have killed and captured them all. There had been hundreds once. And there would be hundreds again. Together, the Riders would be stronger, strong enough to help others, and they wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.
And this time, if someone dared to knock Veronyka and Val’s door down and come after their loved ones, Veronyka would have the power to fight. What happened to their grandmother wouldn’t happen to anyone she cared about ever again.
Reaching the end of her hair, Veronyka tied off the braid with some twine, then carefully threaded the piece of shell into place with several more knots. She looked down at it, then at the phoenix pecking the ground next to her. Not just any phoenix, but her phoenix.
Smiling, Veronyka scooped up her bondmate and crawled back in next to Val. The phoenix brought more than just physical comfort; calmness settled over Veronyka like a warm blanket, and sleep descended at last.
She sat in a sunny room decorated with plush carpets, fine wooden furniture, and carved stone niches filled with scrolls. A library. Veronyka had never been in a library, or seen any room so fine, but in the dream she knew where she was; it felt like home.
Across from her was a girl. Veronyka didn’t know her, but she was familiar—she’d seen her in dreams before. Her dark hair was braided with finely made beads and sparkling jewels, and she frowned down at the table between them, her lips twisted in concentration as she stumbled through a scroll.
Dream-Veronyka loved her—affection swelled in her chest, amusement and fondness bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her, some well of emotion that wasn’t her own.This was someone else’s life she was seeing, someone else’s body she was inhabiting.
“What is ‘phoenovo’?” the girl asked exasperatedly. “It almost looks like ‘phoenix,’ but it has different letters on the end.”
“Remember your root words,” Veronyka found herself saying, her voice only slightly chiding—and definitely female. “If half the word looks like ‘phoenix,’ what does the other half look like?”
The girl paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “Ovo . . . ovo—egg!” she whispered, face alight with triumph. “So it’s a . . . phoenix egg?”
Veronyka nodded, her dream-self pleased with the girl. “They’re extremely rare and difficult to hatch. They symbolize life, but also death—it’s a cycle. That’s how they’re able to be reborn. . . . Death gives them life. If not carefully incubated in the ashes of the dead, they will draw life from elsewhere, including their own brothers or sisters, if necessary.”
“They kill one another?” the girl asked. “Their own siblings?” Her triumphant expression turned darker, warier, and the room around them grew colder.
Veronyka shrugged, but she had the sense that they were talking about more than just phoenixes. “They cancel each other out. A death for a life. It’s called balance, xe xie,” Veronyka said.
“Xe xie” was a Pyraean term of endearment translating to “sweet” or “precious one.” Its use made Veronyka think that these girls were probably family. Sisters, maybe.
Footsteps echoed in the dream hallway, and both girls looked toward the door. Their afternoon together was coming to a close. . . .
The dream faded away, and Veronyka woke up in the dark, cold cabin, dread pitted in her stomach.
Visions had plagued her all her life. It was a symptom of shadow magic, Val said, which was why she must constantly guard her mind, even while sleeping. People’s thoughts and emotions floated through the air like dandelion spores, waiting to stick to unwary minds like hers—or be snatched up by sharper ones like Val’s. For Veronyka, who had a hard time keeping her mind locked at night, these stray thoughts and emotions twisted themselves into strange dreams.
It had been worse in Aura Nova, when there were so many people nearby. Things had been quieter in the mountains, with only Val for company—but her sister explained that minds were cavernous places and that thoughts and memories could linger there for years, only to surface later. Veronyka supposed that was why she’d sometimes see the same people over and over again in her dreams, as if they’d wormed their way into her consciousness and refused to leave.