“They wanted the healer to have a look at you,” Val began, and Veronyka’s stomach clenched at the thought of them poking and prodding her unconscious body and discovering her secret. “But,” Val continued, smirking at Veronyka’s look of horror, “I told them there was no need. I said you sometimes collapse when you’re overtired. I offered my room so you could have some peace and quiet. Don’t fret. They haven’t figured you out yet, and they suspect nothing of your magic or your bond. You’re welcome.”
Veronyka scowled. She’d rather swallow soaptree leaves than give Val such an undeserved thank-you. “You were following me,” she said instead, her tone accusatory. How else could Val have gotten in the middle of things if she hadn’t been lurking somewhere nearby?
Val’s expression flickered slightly, the tiniest chink her in self-assured armor. “I went looking for you,” she corrected. “And figured you’d be with your bondmate. I arrived just in time to see you hit the ground.”
Veronyka felt like there was more to the story than that. Had Val been in the Eyrie for other reasons?
“Your phoenix was so worked up, they decided to abandon the exercise after you were carried away. Your mistake has earned you a victory, if only a temporary one.”
Veronyka’s mouth twisted. Her mistake. Without another word, she reached across the floor for her boots.
Val watched her every movement. “Do you have any idea what you did down there?” she blurted, and Veronyka was shocked to hear her voice shake slightly.
“No, I don’t. How could I, Val?” Veronyka demanded, getting to her feet. “You never taught me anything about shadow magic, did you? Nothing worth knowing, anyway. You wanted me to be unskilled and untrained so you could use it against me however you liked.”
“I was saving you from yourself!” Val snarled, standing as well. “Your control has always been wild and erratic. You think I didn’t see you in the courtyard the night your bondmate returned, commanding dozens of people by accident?”
Veronyka’s stomach dropped. Though she’d noticed Val’s attention at the time, she’d secretly hoped her sister didn’t fully understand what she’d done. But of course she had. Veronyka had completely lost control of herself and her magic, and somehow she’d managed to force her will on a whole crowd of unsuspecting people.
“So yes, Veronyka, I’ve withheld information from you. To protect you. I was trying to stop you from doing something even more reckless, something like what you did last night,” she said, gesturing vaguely in the direction Veronyka assumed was the Eyrie.
“And what exactly was that, Val?” Veronyka asked. Her feelings of guilt ebbed away in the face of Val’s arrogance and superiority. Veronyka failed to see how what had happened with Tristan—one person—was any worse than what had happened in the courtyard. “What is it you think I’ve done?”
Val hesitated, and before she even opened her mouth, Veronyka knew she wasn’t getting the whole truth. “You almost gave yourself away. You were neck-deep inside that apprentice’s mind, and if your own body hadn’t dragged you out, you might have drowned in him.”
The thought sent a shiver down Veronyka’s back. Could a shadowmage actually delve so deep into another’s mind that they lost track of their own?
She considered her sister’s words. Whenever Val disliked someone, she refused to use their proper name. Xephyra became “your phoenix” or “your bondmate,” and Tristan became “that apprentice.” Even their grandmother was often treated with scorn and called “old woman.” Veronyka had always assumed Val’s hostility toward the people in Veronyka’s life came from a false sense of superiority, but what if it was something else? What if it was fear? Not of danger or darkness or any of the usual things that scared people, but fear of being replaced?
Their maiora might be gone, but Xephyra and Tristan were both occupying important places in Veronyka’s life, places that, for sixteen years, had belonged to Val. But now Val had to share that space, and sharing had never been one of her strengths.
Exhaustion seeped into Veronyka’s bones. She didn’t know how to go on from here. There was so much she still needed from her sister, things that only family could give. But Val refused to fill that role.
Voices and the clank and jangle of weapons filtered in from the courtyard, and Veronyka remembered the horn calls that had awoken her. “I have to go,” she said. She hesitated—why, she wasn’t sure—but Val made no move to stop her.
Outside, mist clung to the ground in the early dawn light, distorting shapes and muffling sound as she made her way through the stronghold.
The commander’s booming voice soon distinguished itself, and Veronyka followed it to find him atop the ramparts. He was conversing with one of the guards, and Beryk and his phoenix were perched on the wall next to them.
As Veronyka approached the commotion, Tristan fell into step beside her.
“You’re up,” he said, his face lit with relief. Veronyka wondered if he’d had a hand in getting her to bed again and quickly banished the embarrassing thought.
“Yeah,” Veronyka said, avoiding the still-concerned furrow of his brow. “I’m fine. Sorry about all that. It’s been a crazy couple of days, and . . . I guess I was just tired.”
“I know what you mean,” he said. “I was so nervous standing up to the commander, I was feeling a bit light-headed myself.”
Veronyka’s stomach twisted. So he had felt her in his mind, even if he didn’t understand what he’d experienced. It was some measure of relief to know he hadn’t glimpsed her thoughts the way she’d seen his, but she still felt immensely guilty. Based on Val’s reaction, Veronyka suspected at least some of her concern over what Veronyka had done was genuine—that what had happened wasn’t common or particularly safe. She had to be more careful.
The commander descended the nearby stairs, joining the handful of Riders who were congregating in the courtyard, hastily strapping on armor and weapons. Apprentices were there too, helping with buckles or carrying quivers of arrows. Elliot kept fumbling with Fallon’s wrist guard, his face pale and drawn, while Latham handed out waterskins with trembling hands.
“What’s happening?” Veronyka asked.
“Apparently there was smoke coming from one of the riverside villages,” Tristan answered, following his father as he made his way through the crowd. “Beryk was on patrol and saw it, so he raised the alarm—three blasts of the horn.”
“What does it mean? Did some buildings catch fire?”
“No. This isn’t regular wood smoke. They lit a pyre of long grasses and leaves used to create black smoke. A signal. It means they’re calling for help.”
“From the Riders?” Veronyka asked, perplexed. She thought their existence was supposed to be a carefully guarded secret.
“No. The signals are meant to notify nearby villages of raiders. When attacks happen on the lower rim, we usually can’t respond. Not only would we probably not get there in time, but they’re too close to the empire—we can’t risk being seen. But this signal is coming from one of the closer villages. . . .”
“Are the Riders going to respond this time?” Veronyka asked.
Tristan didn’t answer. Instead they both leaned in to hear what the commander was saying.