Heart of Flames, page 43
This separation would only be temporary.
But if that was true, why did it feel like she was saying goodbye forever?
Veronyka put away the lockbox and saddled Xephyra, who was as apprehensive as Veronyka had ever seen her. She was sidling back and forth from foot to foot, while Rex fluttered anxiously nearby. He watched Veronyka’s every move, inviting her into his mind, but Veronyka drew herself inward and closed her mental barriers as tightly as she knew how.
So tightly that even Xephyra had trouble getting through, and when Tristan stepped up behind her, she had no sense of his approach.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice causing her to whirl around in alarm, her heart thundering. The forest was dark and silent around them, meaning the rest of his patrol must still be in the village; Tristan had come alone.
She looked at him, at the deep ridge of his brow, and returned to her task. “Packing.”
“You’re going to meet her.” It wasn’t a question.
Veronyka paused as she fastened a strap. “Look, Tristan,” she began, but he was no longer behind her. He was several feet away, gathering his pack and folding his bedroll. “What are you doing?”
“I’m getting ready.”
“For what?” Veronyka asked, stepping away from Xephyra to better see him.
He straightened, his satchel over his shoulder and a pile of his possessions stuffed under his arm. He fixed her with a steady stare. “I’m coming with you.”
Veronyka’s chest ached, and she had to look down to collect herself. “Tristan…”
He came to a stop next to her, adding his burden to Veronyka’s pile of supplies. Rex fluttered over, dropping his head to snuffle at Tristan’s chest before nosing around the items scattered over the ground. Tristan watched Rex as he spoke. “I already told you: Wherever you are is where I want to be.”
The words made the pain in Veronyka’s chest expand, cutting her breath short and pressing against her ribs. She was suffocating from a mix of wild pleasure and aching regret. “This isn’t like before, sneaking out at dark or taking a detour on official Rider business. I don’t know exactly where we’re going, and I don’t know when I’m coming back.”
“But you are coming back?” he asked, seeming to forget the question of whether or not he would join her.
Veronyka turned away, strapping another parcel to Xephyra’s saddle. “Yes.”
He hesitated, as if biting back words he wanted to say but thought better of. “You can’t just go with her… especially not alone. You’re not her little sister anymore. You’re an Ashfire heir,” he said, lowering his voice. “What if she betrays you? It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“How? Nobody wants an Ashfire heir—not the people of the empire and not the Phoenix Riders either, if what Ilithya’s list says is any indication.”
She tried not to sound bitter; there was a part of her that knew she could do good if she claimed her heritage and took her place as a leader. She could be a voice for animages across the empire and in Pyra. But given her bloodline… there was a very good chance they wouldn’t want her. She’d need more than a name to free the bondservants and make the empire safe for animages again; she’d need supporters and allies. The problem was Val; those who had supported Avalkyra wouldn’t support Veronyka—especially once Val came forward—and conversely, those who disliked the Feather-Crowned Queen’s legacy would be ready to paint Veronyka with the same brush.
“No, but they might want to kill one,” Tristan said bluntly. “Besides, just because they don’t want Avalkyra doesn’t mean they wouldn’t want you.”
“It doesn’t matter. Val wants me with her for now—that means she won’t tell anyone.”
“For now,” Tristan echoed. “But as soon as you do something she doesn’t like, you know she won’t hesitate.”
“Let me deal with Val, all right? I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“This is just like the shadow magic—you don’t have to do this alone. And you don’t need her anymore, like you used to. You have a place here, duties, responsibilities. They’re going to notice when you don’t return. Have you even thought about the repercussions?”
“Have you?” Veronyka snapped. Of course she’d thought about the repercussions, even though she’d tried not to. Would they kick her out for abandoning her post? Or would she wind up grounded like Elliot instead? It was a nauseating thought. “I know my place, Tristan,” she continued, her voice cold. “It was made pretty clear to me tonight. And wherever I belong, it’s not with your patrol.”
Tristan closed his eyes in a grimace. “He—they’ll come around. I’ll make them. And they don’t all think like Latham.” He took a halting step forward. “Your place is on my patrol. You’re my second, whether it’s official or not. You are.”
Veronyka felt tears gathering behind her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek to steady herself. “You keep saying you want to come with me, Tristan, but you haven’t thought it through either.” Tristan would lose more than his position of he was kicked out. He’d lose his family and the leadership role he’d fought so hard for. She couldn’t let him risk all that just for her. “You’re a patrol leader. You’re the commander’s son. You can’t just up and leave; people are depending on you.”
Veronyka thought she might have finally gotten through to him with that one. His expression was bleak and his gaze distant as he let her words settle over him.
“Just forget you saw me again tonight,” she said. “When the others ask, say you don’t know where I am.”
He laughed harshly, the pain in his eyes like a punch to Veronyka’s stomach. The bond between them quivered, shook—begging to be opened, so that she might ease his pain. She clenched her jaw and fought against the urge. “How do you expect me to forget?” His voice was a soft, wretched thing, as if he truly had no idea how to go on.
Veronyka lowered her voice to match his. “Please, Tristan. I need to do this. I need to go with her, and I can’t keep putting you in danger. I won’t have you risking your position for me.”
Tristan’s head was in his hands, and his voice was muffled when he spoke. “But she’s dangerous, Veronyka.” He looked up at her, then higher, into the stars. “How can you possibly trust her?”
“I can’t,” Veronyka said simply. “But I’m the only one who can do this. All those captives… I have to try. I can’t ignore it, knowing that I can help. I won’t leave them to that fate.”
Grim resignation shadowed Tristan’s eyes. His head dipped toward his chest.
Veronyka stepped toward him and rested her palms on his cheeks, framing his face. His hands rose at once to cover hers, his face lifting desperately. Though fear made her twitchy, Veronyka didn’t draw back from the contact. She stared at him for a long time, willing him to feel her sincerity—her absolute belief that she was doing the right thing.
“Remember when you said you trusted me?” she asked. His gaze faltered, and she knew he was remembering their oaths of fealty—their promises to be loyal to each other. “Trust me now,” she continued softly, and let me go.
She spoke the last few words through the bond before she released her hold and leapt onto Xephyra’s saddle.
Please, he begged, though it was inside her head—the last dregs of their fleeting contact.
“Fly,” she whispered to Xephyra, head bent low. With a sweep of her bondmate’s wings, they were off into the darkness.
Veronyka closed her eyes as they disappeared into the sky, the wind drying the dampness on her cheeks.
Day 7, Sixth Moon, 169 AE
You speak so casually about choice, Theryn, when none of us had any. Avalkyra didn’t choose to leave the empire—your precious Pheronia chased her from it.
I didn’t choose to have my mother cast me out for my magic. I’m a Phoenix Rider. They are all I have, my only family now that Dad is gone. Where else could I stand if not with them?
I can’t stand with you, after all. You chose her, an imposter queen, while her soldiers march into Pyra hunting people like me into oblivion.
My choice was made for me, but yours was not.
Don’t write to me again. Don’t call me Lexi. Next time we meet, you’ll be a soldier fighting for the empire, and I’ll be a rebel on the other side.
I fight for the future, but Avalkyra fights
for the moment, for the past—for every slight and
crime against her. Avalkyra fights only for herself.
- CHAPTER 37 - AVALKYRA
AVALKYRA WAITED IN THE gathering dark, her heart hammering blood and adrenaline through her veins.
Veronyka would come. She had to.
And if she didn’t…
She would.
Everything had led to this point—she could see it now, the way their paths had separated but remained parallel, moving in the same direction so they might cross again.
Rushlea, it seemed, was a fortuitous meeting place. Avalkyra and Pheronia had had a similar encounter in this very spot, but Avalkyra hadn’t been prepared then.
This time she’d orchestrated the meeting—had forced Doriyan to draw Veronyka’s attention and lead her to the mine—and Avalkyra and Veronyka’s relationship was not yet as far gone as Avalkyra and Pheronia’s had been. There was still a chance. There was still hope.
Veronyka would be hers. Her blood, her redemption.
And this world would be theirs.
The creature beneath her rustled and shifted uneasily, and Avalkyra refocused her attention, tightening the bind. Even when she wasn’t riding the phoenix, she had to exert an extraordinary amount of effort to keep the animal under her control. The problem was, the phoenix still had not invited her in. So while there was indeed a bind in place, it was weak in comparison to her bind to Sidra, who welcomed Avalkyra’s shadow touch. Avalkyra hadn’t even bothered trying shadow magic with Doriyan, especially when it became clear very quickly that he regretted what he’d done in her service all those years ago and had no intention of willingly allowing her into his mind. And so Avalkyra had found other ways to force his obedience.
Even though that decision had conserved her shadow magic, her binds to Sidra and the phoenix were threadbare, fraying ropes in comparison to the steel-chain bond she shared with Veronyka. Maybe someday Avalkyra could explain the power of it, could show Veronyka how to wield instead of fear it. Even within her own mind, Veronyka was afraid, as if Avalkyra’s intrusions were something she had to block at all costs, as if Avalkyra didn’t fear being there herself far more.
It had nearly robbed Avalkyra of her own consciousness to thrust that shadow magic vision upon Veronyka in the mine. She’d thought it would be a good way to put Veronyka on the defensive—as well as give Avalkyra herself the opportunity to take hold of the situation—but she hadn’t expected the memory to be more powerful than Avalkyra’s own hold on it.
It had been Veronyka who broke them both out of it. All three of them, actually, because the commander’s son had taken up residence inside Veronyka’s mind—and heart—as well. It was lucky he did not have shadow magic too, or the web between them would be all the more tangled. As it was, he was a helpless passenger, but Avalkyra would have to deal with him eventually. For now she had to tread very softly, treating Veronyka like a wild horse that might be spooked. But once they started to run together, the wind in their hair and their old lives far behind them, Avalkyra would cut the ties and set them both free.
There was a rustle to her left, and though Avalkyra longed to whip around in her saddle, gaze hungrily roving the trees, she restrained herself. Instead she closed her eyes and let her magical senses broaden. The phoenix tossed her head, and Avalkyra drew her magic back to herself.
“Hello, xe Nyka,” she said, still not turning in the saddle.
Despite pulling her magic inward and focusing it on her phoenix, she sensed Veronyka’s irritation. It flashed between them before Veronyka got herself under control.
“Let me guess,” Veronyka said, her phoenix sidling up next to Avalkyra’s and bringing them into her peripheral vision. Avalkyra turned to face her. “You knew I’d come.”
Avalkyra smiled. “No, Veronyka. But I’d hoped.”
Veronyka snorted. “I thought you said hope was foolish.”
Avalkyra had expressed some version of that sentiment many times in both her lives. A helpless fool hoped for something outside of her control… but a queen made it so.
Even still, Avalkyra had made the moves, willed people and events to force this outcome, but she could not guarantee it. She could not make it so. All she could do was stand in the shadows and hope.
“Consider me a fool, then,” she said.
Veronyka cast an appraising look at her. Avalkyra didn’t much care for the feeling of being assessed and measured, so she urged her mount forward, into the sky.
Veronyka followed. She was a natural flyer, and it was clear her bond to her phoenix was as strong as ever, in spite of—or maybe because of—the creature’s death and resurrection.
Taking the lead, Avalkyra started to steer them southwest when Veronyka cut her off. She flew in front suddenly, then diverted their flight with a familiar Phoenix Rider hand gesture.
Avalkyra was so surprised that she followed the order without thinking, redirecting her flight south.
Once they had leveled off, Veronyka twisted in the saddle. “There are patrols,” she said shortly, the words carrying back to Avalkyra on the wind.
Veronyka slowed her pace, bringing them on a level, but not allowing herself to slip behind. Had she sensed Avalkyra’s reaction to her taking the lead and was now attempting to rectify the situation? Avalkyra tried their bond, but Veronyka’s mind was guarded. Even without shadow magic, her posture was stiff and her chin held high.
“We’ll head west before we reach Vayle,” Veronyka continued, still shouting the words for Avalkyra to hear.
Use your mind, Nyka, Avalkyra said. That is how the best patrols did it.
Veronyka didn’t answer.
* * *
They flew all night, the wilds of Pyrmont rolling out before them like some vast Stellan rug. After they passed all the commander’s Phoenix Rider patrols, Veronyka subtly slowed her pace, allowing Avalkyra to take the lead since she didn’t know their destination. They were on the lower rim now, flying over the Foothills in a steady western path.
Avalkyra was focused on their destination, steering them slightly north of where she expected Rolan’s soldiers to be. If Sidra had beaten them back—which she should have—she’d be keeping a lookout and would spot their approach.
“What is that?” came Veronyka’s sharp voice. Avalkyra pretended not to hear her, and after several silent wingbeats, Veronyka tried again.
Val, she said, and even in her mind her words sounded strangled. What is that? What happened?
Pleased to have won that particular battle of wills, Avalkyra looked down. They were passing the wide grassy plains between Runnet and the Ferronese border, and they were burning. Avalkyra couldn’t mirror with her phoenix, but it didn’t take superior eyesight to guess…. Rolan’s soldiers had struck one of the smaller farming communities—Hillsbridge, judging by their current location.
It looked like Veronyka and Val had missed the worst of it; there were mostly soldiers visible now, chasing the last screaming villagers as they tried to flee, or burning and destroying what little remained of the structures. Bodies littered the ground, and while the soldiers made no move to burn or bury them, some were obviously looting.
I told you, Lord Rolan wants a war. He will have it, whether your precious Riders fight in it or not.
That is not a war, Veronyka said, anger radiating from her and her bondmate in a rush of sparks. That is a massacre.
Control yourself, Avalkyra said sharply, though she loved seeing the fire in Veronyka, especially when it wasn’t directed at her.
Veronyka’s outrage pulsed and glowed, like a coal ready to catch flame. She was closer to diving down and intervening than Avalkyra had first realized. Veronyka was a raging wildfire held too long in check. She needed to be set loose.
No, not a wildfire. An Ashfire.
That battle is already lost, Veronyka, she pressed on. Think of the captives. Think of the battle to come.
They soon left the carnage and the smell of burning wood and flesh behind, and Veronyka’s rigid seat in her saddle relaxed somewhat. When Avalkyra was certain the girl wasn’t going to wheel around and dive into the fray, she focused again on the landscape ahead.
They weren’t far from the border now; Hillsbridge was the last inhabited village before the ground turned rocky and severe, and the Foothills marked the natural barrier between the province of Ferro and the Freelands of Pyra.
Though it was night, her eyes had long since adjusted, and Avalkyra could make out the distant mass of figures looming in the distance. Moonlight glinted off bits of metal and the smooth surface of canvas tents, and smoldering campfires dotted the ground where hunched bodies sat together or lay flat sleeping.
Veronyka leaned forward—she’d seen it too.
While the soldiers were spread across the ground in swaths of mostly indistinguishable shapes—save for the picketed horses and the tents—there was a clearly demarcated center of the camp where a group of larger tents were clustered together under heavy guard.
The animage captives.
Come, Avalkyra said, turning their flight northward before they were spotted by sentries. They’d not gotten far before she sensed Sidra’s presence, and a distant shape rose from the darkness below to soar toward them.
Once she saw it was them, Sidra wheeled back around and led the way to her camp. They’d agreed upon this spot before—there was a series of caves hidden in the craggy landscape that had been popular for smugglers to hide their wares before sneaking them over the border. Some had multiple rooms and levels—even doors and locks—because not all the cargo smuggled over the border could be safely stored in boxes.
