“We’re family,” Val added, her voice stripped of her usual scorn. “I would go anywhere, do anything, for you. Surely you know that.”
Yes, Veronyka did know that. Val would do anything—she was a person without limits, it seemed, and so full of self-righteous conviction that she could justify any dangerous action or bizarre behavior—and that was an exhausting burden to bear.
“And now you’re here,” Veronyka said. “What it is that you want?”
Val crossed her arms stiffly, looking uncomfortable. A surprising thought occurred to Veronyka. Had Val come to apologize? Could it be that she regretted what she’d done and she wanted to make things right?
“I know we didn’t part on the best of terms,” Val began, resting a hand on Veronyka’s shoulder. “But that’s in the past.”
Nope, no apology. Veronyka jerked out of reach. “The best of terms?” she repeated, her voice shaky. The shock of seeing her sister, the resurfaced memories of hurt and betrayal . . . they were catching up with Veronyka, making her dizzy and light-headed.
“You’re still angry with me, for culling your—”
“Culling?” Veronyka choked, the word torn from her constricted throat. “She was my bondmate!”
Val pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring. Then she took a slow, measured breath, as if Veronyka were an irrational child throwing a tantrum and Val were searching for patience. Veronyka glanced around, knowing she shouldn’t have shouted, but no one was nearby. Voices and laughter could be heard from the field beyond the gate, where everyone gathered, but the village itself was quiet. She had to keep her temper under control. . . . She had to keep Val under control.
“We don’t have time for this, Veronyka. I need you by my side. We’re stronger, better, together.”
The words grated. How could Val even think that? Over the past few weeks Veronyka had seen what real friendship was—how two people could work together and help each other, and that wasn’t what her relationship with Val had ever been, or would ever be.
“With me you can be yourself,” Val continued, gaze roving Veronyka’s face. “You’ve cut your braids and forgotten yourself, posing as—what? Some peasant boy-child?”
“I am myself; I haven’t forgotten anything. And there’s nothing wrong with dressing like a boy,” Veronyka said, fighting for composure. “Queen Malka did it. She bound her breasts and kept her braids short.”
Val rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, Veronyka added, “And I’m not just a peasant; I’m a stablehand.”
“A stablehand? You abandoned me, your only family in the world, so you could live a lie as a no-name servant?”
“So what?” Veronyka asked, her voice rising again. “There are worse things than serving those you respect, than paying your dues until . . .”
“Until what, xe Nyka? You think I don’t know, that I didn’t ask around, didn’t pry into heads and hearts and figure it out the moment I stepped foot in this sorry excuse for a Rider outpost? No female Riders and only a dozen masters—half barely out of childhood and the rest wrinkled, old men? They have no eggs, and no eggs means no phoenixes and no future.”
Veronyka shook, unnerved that Val had gleaned so much so quickly. “I wouldn’t need to be here, waiting for a phoenix egg, if you hadn’t killed my bondmate.”
Val’s hands clenched and unclenched, her face twisting with anger. She turned abruptly away, as if she wanted to punch something, but after a deep breath, the rigid line of her back loosened. She looked over her shoulder. “If that were different—if things were different . . .”
“If things were different, I’d be a Phoenix Rider.” Veronyka’s rage was shifting, twisting and swirling, spreading like wings inside her chest. Xephyra’s face flashed in her mind, and Veronyka pushed the dark feelings away before they engulfed her. “But I’m not.”
“Hey, Nyk—is everything okay?”
Veronyka spun around to see Tristan standing a few feet away, approaching them hesitantly. How much had he heard? His expression seemed mild enough, if a bit concerned—their tense body language made it obvious that Veronyka and her sister were arguing.
“Everything is fine,” Veronyka said, hating that he was here, within her sister’s eyeline. “This is my sister, Val. And, Val, this is Tristan, one of the apprentices.”
Tristan nodded, frowning slightly as he considered them. Veronyka knew they looked nothing alike, and she could only hope Val never crossed paths with Beryk or Elliot.
Val was looking at Tristan, too, no doubt measuring his worth and deciding what way he could best be used to her advantage.
“Why do you not allow females to train as Riders?” Val demanded without preamble.
Veronyka squeezed her eyes shut, stifling a groan.
“Well,” Tristan began, gaze flicking to Veronyka as if wondering how much she’d told her sister. “We didn’t have a lot of eggs, in the beginning. So we had to be, uh, selective.”
Val tilted her head, and Veronyka could sense the magic spill from her, almost see the way she poked and prodded into Tristan’s mind. Veronyka felt sick being witness to the violation and even worse that she didn’t know how to stop it. “But you do have female phoenixes, don’t you . . . ?” Val whispered, almost to herself, distracted as she searched his thoughts.
“In the breeding enclosure,” Tristan said.
“Breeding enclosure?” Val repeated, her voice dangerously flat.
“Can we have some time alone?” Veronyka blurted as Val’s eyes sparked with anger.
Tristan nodded, looking slightly hurt at the quick dismissal. She wished she could tell him it was for his own good, that she was protecting him, but all she could do was smile encouragingly.
“Nice to meet you,” he said to Val, and turned around, hands in pockets as he strode back up the street and toward the stronghold. Veronyka felt even worse knowing that she’d kept him from the rest of his friends only to abandon him now in the middle of the festivities.
Val’s breath was heavy when she spoke, her face twisted with indignation. “Females imprisoned. You’d better watch yourself here, xe Nyka. If they find out you’re a girl, you might wind up in a cage next. How they dare, when Ignix herself might be among them.”
Though most famous phoenixes had their deaths noted in the history books, no such record existed for Ignix. It was part of why phoenixes were always treated as sacred beings—there was no way of knowing for sure just who they had been, or how long they had lived.
“I doubt they’ve captured and caged the first phoenix in existence, Val,” Veronyka said, her voice weary. She hated the breeding enclosure too, but Val’s dark paranoia knew no bounds. “Surely Ignix would come forward and make herself known.”