Fear, rage, and confusion—she thought they belonged to Val at first, or maybe Tristan, but when she turned to face them both, she knew the sensations didn’t come from either of them. Veronyka whirled, staring into the dark corners of the courtyard. The feelings were familiar somehow, and when she reached out with her magic, a wild, savage screech filled the night.
Shouts echoed from the guards along the walls, who were pointing up at the sky. A flaming phoenix soared above, circling the stronghold in wide, erratic arcs, flying ever lower. Someone tugged Veronyka’s arm, trying to pull her back, but she resisted it.
The phoenix’s flight was dizzying—or maybe that was the swirl of emotions still spinning inside her. There was a pulse of intense heat, and then the phoenix landed on the cobblestones, mere feet in front of Veronyka. A powerful wave of its wings, and sparks danced across the ground.
The phoenix was juvenile, near the size of most of the apprenctice mounts, except its scarlet plumage was edged in deep purple that shimmered in the torchlight. Tracks of flame shone like lava between its feathers, and its eyes, black holes limned with fire, latched on to Veronyka’s and held her gaze.
A gasp escaped her lips, and she dropped to her knees.
Xephyra.
Day 11, Fifth Moon, 170 AE
Princess Pheronia and the Council of Governors, I, Avalkyra Ashfire, the Feather-Crowned Queen and rightful ruler of the Golden Empire, hereby officially claim my throne.
It grieves me that I have been deemed a criminal and a traitor, when I have always acted for the good of my family, and of course, for the good of the empire.
I will be in Aura Nova one week hence, in order to discuss the terms of my ascension. You are welcome to negotiate your position in my new regime—but be warned, I have the might of Pyra, Ferro, and the Phoenix Riders behind me.
—Queen Avalkyra Ashfire
P.S. Happy eighteenth birthday, Princess.
But one must be cautious who they bond themselves to. Once fastened, those ties do not easily come undone.
- CHAPTER 29 -
VERONYKA
VERONYKA KNEW IT, FELT it, even as her eyes refused to believe it. Her mental safe house burst open, flooding her mind with memories, and in them, Xephyra was still small enough to carry. The creature before her now was almost the size of a pony, her claws sharp and her wingspan as wide as the cabin she’d be born in.
Reborn in. Xephyra had come back. Somehow Veronyka had managed it. Somehow that cold pile of ash had turned into her phoenix once more. No matter how much she’d grown in their time apart, there was no mistaking the bond between them. The instant their eyes met, it had sparked back to life, like fresh tinder on the smoldering embers of a banked fire. The connection crackled between them, shock and recognition setting Veronyka’s very soul ablaze.
Xephyra was on fire too—there were great billowing waves of it, rippling over her scarlet feathers, so hot they burned bright, blisteringly blue. But these weren’t the flames of happiness, of a phoenix and Rider rejoined. . . . They were the flames of danger.
Veronyka looked over her shoulder, noticing the crowd of people there for the first time.
Apprentices, servants, and villagers were huddled near the entrance to the dining hall, where they had undoubtedly spilled out in reaction to Xephyra’s fierce shrieks.
Stronghold guards were there too, with bows and spears pointed directly at the newly appeared firebird.
A spasm of fear—hers or Xephyra’s, she wasn’t sure—pulled Veronyka off her knees and onto her feet. Her mind was galloping in a hundred directions at once, and the reappearance of her bondmate did nothing to quell the confusion inside.
Veronyka clenched her teeth and focused.
Xephyra was in danger here—the phoenix sensed it, and it made her behave wildly, which only put her in greater danger. Unless bonded, phoenixes were erratic, unpredictable creatures, and the stronghold guards were on high alert because of that fact. One wrong move, and this could turn very, very bad.
Veronyka had to get Xephyra to calm down. Once her bondmate was under control, the guards would stand down, and the immediate threat would be neutralized.
Taking a shaky step forward, she reached out with her hands as well as her magic.
“Nyk, no!” Tristan shouted, though it sounded as if it came from a lifetime away. She supposed it did. Tristan existed in a world where Veronyka was Nyk, and Nyk had no phoenix. But that’s not where Veronyka truly was. No, Veronyka was here and now, reunited with her dead bondmate and afraid for her life.
When she made contact with Xephyra’s mind, Veronyka staggered—it was bizarrely unfamiliar, and yet nothing had really changed. It had the feeling of a childhood home that was now inhabited by new people—it was at once exactly the same and astoundingly different. It was a miraculous thing to realize that the bond survived death, but their connection wasn’t unchanged by it.
It was clear that Xephyra was wary too, and confused by their reunion. Veronyka kept seeing herself in her phoenix’s mind—long black braids, the cottage, their pallet on the floor—and she seized the images.
Yes, it’s me, she said, pressing a hand to her chest. Tears welled in her eyes as Xephyra cocked her head, hesitating. It’s me.
Veronyka sensed the commotion around her, felt the shifting bodies and shuffling feet, but she blocked it all out. All that mattered was her and Xephyra. With every second they spent staring at each other, their flickering, fragile bond strengthened. But no matter the soothing thoughts and comforting emotions Veronyka funneled through their link, Xephyra refused to settle. Her hackles were up, her instincts on high alert, and the upheaval in the courtyard did nothing to stifle her fears.
“Step aside, boy!” came the commander’s voice, like a general on a battlefield, breaking Veronyka’s concentration.
A metallic scraping noise sounded, sending a sliver of foreboding down Veronyka’s spine. She craned her neck, searching for the source, and spotted two guards holding a length of greasy-looking iron links.
A net.
“No—please,” Veronyka cried, but before she could say or do anything more, Xephyra panicked and reared up, sending a sweltering wave of heat and sparks over the crowd.
Veronyka raised an arm to protect her face, shocked at the intensity of the heat. At the edges of the courtyard, bits of straw and fabric caught fire, while the onlookers gasped, rippling and recoiling from the hot air like grass in the wind. Tristan was at the forefront and had been reaching for her before Xephyra’s flames had forced him to stagger back. Val was there too; her face shone with intensity, her gaze manic, hungry, as she stared at the scene before her.
Hatred roiled in Veronyka’s gut. Val. Did she have something to do with this? Did she know all this time that Xephyra had come back?
The commander was shouting again, and the sound caused Val’s unblinking stare to falter. With one final glance at Veronyka, she allowed herself to be bumped and jostled, disappearing into the crush of bodies. Did she fear what would happen now that the commander was involved? Or did she sense Veronyka’s rage and know that it was directed at her?