Wings of Shadow

by Nicki Pau Preto

  Veronyka tried to shake the uneasy feeling inside her—and the temptation to reach out to Val again, like she’d inadvertently done the night before. She feared what might happen if she gave in, but she felt the overwhelming need to do something.

  “Where do you think they are?” she asked, instead of answering Doriyan’s question. “The farmers… the, uh, Unnamed?”

  He gave her a significant look.

  “You don’t think… the mine?” she asked, surprised she hadn’t thought of it already.

  “That would be my first guess,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his now neatly trimmed beard. He looked much younger than he had when they’d met—new clothes, tamed hair, and a few square meals had done a lot to improve his appearance, though his eyes still held that haunted look. “But Pyra is vast and wild, and filled with places to hide. Run-down inns and rest stops, whole villages abandoned and overgrown. I can think of at least five places near Rushlea alone.”

  “Good,” Veronyka said. “We’ll start with the mine and go from there.”

  She left word with Lysandro, who was on watch, and they set out.

  Much to Veronyka’s disappointment, the mine was utterly empty when they arrived, with no sign that any people or goods had been hiding there.

  Though it was empty, being in the mine made Val feel incredibly close all of a sudden. Maybe it was the lingering connection from their conversation the night before, or the relentless tension of her dreams. Whatever it was, Veronyka was eager to leave it behind.

  Doriyan took them to the outskirts of town next, where once-thriving farms stood barren and untilled, where uninhabited houses and barns creaked in the wind, their windows dark. From the sky, Veronyka could see swaths of scorched earth, still healing after the Phoenix Riders last clashed with the empire here, as well as trees and bits of equipment standing blackened and burnt.

  Rex and Xephyra—who both insisted on coming—crooned at the sight, and Veronyka felt a pang in her breast at the destruction. This was what war did. Yes, people died, but so did the land, the animals.… The world itself had bled for this seemingly unending conflict. She understood the anger of the Rushlean farmers and their Unnamed allies, but it just proved to her that peace with the empire was the only way to stop this.

  They moved on to the river after that, where grand inns and bustling markets had once thrived, their empty shells now providing ideal hideouts for criminals and stolen goods.

  But as Veronyka and Doriyan combed through building after building, they found no sign that the structures were in use by the farmers, the Unnamed—or anyone at all.

  Frustrated, Veronyka stalked out of the run-down stables outside an inn, shielding her eyes from the early-morning sun. They were due to return to the Eyrie later today, and she’d been hoping to have some kind of answers. Instead, she’d be back to waiting and wondering when the Grand Council would meet, if Tristan was okay, and what Val was up to.

  Xephyra—who was perched atop the stables—squawked to announce a visitor.

  No, multiple visitors. Lysandro, Ronyn, Anders, and Latham appeared, and with them flew Loran, Latham’s younger brother and Phoenix Rider apprentice. They were all grim-faced, but Loran looked white as fresh-spun cotton.

  “What is it?” Veronyka demanded as they landed before her. “What’s happened?”

  “There’s been an attack. We lost the Eyrie.”

  “What? An attack? By whom?” she asked frantically, though her stomach sank as if she already knew the answer.

  “It was her,” Loran said with a trembling voice. “The dead queen. The resurrected queen. That’s what everyone’s saying. She landed in the courtyard riding this big black creature—like a phoenix, but darker, and colder, and…”

  Veronyka was shaking her head. Did he mean…? Could it possibly be…?

  “Commander Cassian called them strixes,” Latham put in, hand gripping his brother’s shoulder hard.

  The word caused a chip of ice to lodge itself in Veronyka’s breastbone. Xephyra shuddered. “Strixes?” she repeated in a hushed voice. “Plural?”

  “She rode one, but there were others. We don’t know how many—it was too dark.”

  Veronyka pulled on her hair in agitation. Strixes, she thought wildly. Avalkyra Ashfire has hatched strixes.

  “Why was she there? What did she want?” asked Doriyan, glancing sidelong at Veronyka. Had Val gone there for her? But when they’d spoken the night before, she said she was hunting a spy.…

  “She was asking for Ignix,” Loran said uncertainly. Most did not know that she had survived all this time, though Veronyka had told the commander and a few others.

  “But Ignix isn’t at the Eyrie,” Veronyka said uncertainly. Or at least she hadn’t been when Veronyka left it.

  “The phoenix—Ignix—came first, trying to warn us. But it was too late. Avalkyra swooped in and challenged her for the Eyrie, and Ignix accepted,” Loran continued. “We couldn’t help her or interfere after that. Next thing I knew, we were evacuating.”

  Silence descended, and everyone stared at Veronyka, expecting some sort of reaction. This was her once-sister, after all, and her rival for the throne. Surely this was a moment for a rousing speech—for words of comfort or assurance.

  But Veronyka had nothing. All she could think about was last night, her strange talk with Val and how she’d been restless and unable to sleep. How something awful had been looming over her.

  And she’d ignored it.

  “What happened to Ignix?” If they’d evacuated, that meant she’d lost the challenge.…

  “Buried in a rockslide,” Loran replied shakily. “She wasn’t the only one.”

  Desolation swept over Veronyka. Ignix, the one living creature that might be able to help them take on the strixes—who had defeated them before—was lost.

  She had warned them about this, hadn’t she? She had warned Veronyka… but Veronyka had not understood. And now it was too late.

  “We have to go there,” she said, calling Xephyra. Her mind was racing, skipping ahead, leaping over logic and strategy and avoiding the dozens of questions she should be asking in favor of one: how. How? How had Val done this? How had Veronyka not seen it?

  “We’re to report to Prosperity,” Latham said, taking over from his brother, whose eyes were wet with unshed tears. “All of us.”

  Veronyka gritted her teeth. The Eyrie was only a couple of hours away. It was right there. Val was right there.

  She reached for Xephyra’s saddle, but her bondmate—who had fluttered down before her—turned aside, taking the saddle out of reach.

  “Xephyra,” Veronyka said, taking a step forward—but once again, Xephyra angled herself away from Veronyka’s outstretched hand and brought her head down on a level with her instead.

  She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need to. Veronyka was doing it again—being drawn into Val’s machinations no matter how hard she tried to resist them. She was about to make another foolish mistake, to go running after Val as if she’d been beckoned.

  But Veronyka couldn’t act like that anymore. She was a leader—maybe one day a queen. And Tristan was waiting for her. If she followed Val, if she screwed this up again… The thought of leaving the Eyrie in Val’s hands made her stomach clench, but lashing out and retaliating without thinking? That’s what Val would do.

  Veronyka had to be better.

  She took a moment to regain her composure. She was grateful for her bondmate’s intervention, grateful that Xephyra had kept a clear head. She turned to the others. “Camp?”

  “Already broken down and repacked,” answered Ronyn. He gestured to their phoenixes, whose saddles were heavily loaded.

  “The villagers?” she asked.

  “They’ve been informed,” Lysandro said. “The commander sent a letter, and they know to expect additional refugees in the coming day.”

  “Are they in a panic?”

  “Not yet. The letter didn’t get into specifics, I don�
�t think.”

  Like the fact that the Phoenix Riders had been attacked by a flock of mythical creatures? And that the villagers might very well be next?

  “They’ll get the details soon enough,” Latham said, hand still gripping his brother’s shoulder. “Once the refugees arrive and they hear the stories.”

  All of them looked uneasy, but none so much as Loran. He had seen it firsthand. Doriyan, too, looked troubled, but his distant gaze told her he was trying to imagine what had happened, the same as her.

  Though leaving the villagers felt wrong—not to mention the unfinished search for the Unnamed—Veronyka knew that Val didn’t care about Pyra. She never had.

  She had eyes for the Phoenix Riders and for the empire. Leaving might be the best thing they could do for them.

  “To Prosperity, then.”

  Nefyra… How I wish you were here.

  How I am glad that you are not.

  - CHAPTER 15 - SEV

  DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE Sev informed the Phoenix Riders of Lord Rolan’s plans, but no response came.

  He continued to meet with Tristan, considering every aspect of his impending relocation in excruciating detail—would he travel in a wagon or a carriage, hands bound together or to the bench he sat on? Would he ride alone or with a guard? Two? Three? And what of the route the soldiers would take, and how many troops would march alongside?

  Since Captain Yara was assigned to the prison specifically, she was only involved in the very earliest stages of Tristan’s departure, things like the time he was meant to be removed from his cell and into whose custody he would be released. She had absolutely no information on the governor’s movements. Despite her higher rank, she was also one of the only women among Rolan’s soldiers—and the only woman in a position of power—which meant that her presence rarely went unnoticed. There would be no effortless eavesdropping for her, and she was hardly the sort to charm or cajole information out of anyone. She was more likely to beat it out of them, but that would, alas, be slightly suspicious behavior.

  Hestia was more discreet, but her interaction with Rolan was limited, and they couldn’t count on her to hear anything of note. Yara had at least managed to get Sev assigned to prisoner escort duty. She’d had to butt her head in for that—claiming she had no use for so many prison guards when their only prisoner was being taken elsewhere—but as a lowly foot soldier, Sev wouldn’t learn the details of his assignment until they became relevant. As in, the day the assignment took place.

  So they guessed and they plotted, they made contingency plans and contingency plans for their contingency plans, and all the while Sev knew that if they didn’t hear back from the Riders before Tristan was marched out the door, their chance of freeing him might be lost forever.

  He knew that Tristan knew it too. Still, both tried to remain positive, to say “when” they heard back from the Riders, not “if.”

  But as Sev arrived for his second-to-last shift before Tristan was due to leave, they shared a look, and he knew they had to stop kidding themselves and seize their chance before it was too late.

  “We can’t wait any longer,” Sev said, and Tristan nodded, though his expression was pained—and not just because his escape was in jeopardy. Whatever no reply from the Phoenix Riders meant, it couldn’t be good.

  “When?” Tristan asked, getting to his feet.

  Sev considered. “Tomorrow night, as soon as my shift starts. We’ll take one of the wagons meant for the following morning. They’ll be lined up outside and ready to go.”

  “But where would we go? Once they notice I’ve gone, they’ll give chase.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Sev said, because he didn’t have an answer. They’d have to take the wagon as fast and as far as they could, then ditch it or send the horses off in the opposite direction. After that? Maybe they’d try Aura Nova. Sev doubted Rolan would look for them there, and it was the place Sev knew best. The easiest way to disappear wasn’t in the middle of nowhere.… It was in the middle of a crowd.

  They would need provisions, a change of clothes, and some gold if they could find it. With any luck, Yara would remain behind and be involved in the pursuit for the missing prisoner. They could tell her where they weren’t going and hope their combined efforts kept the soldiers off their trail.

  They spent most of the night considering the best ways to get Tristan out of the dungeons, and Sev returned to the barracks with his mind buzzing. He fell into an uneasy sleep, lurching awake often, dreaming of the scratch, scratch, scratch of a messenger pigeon that never came.

  He finally awoke in the early afternoon, still adjusting to his nocturnal schedule, though he was glad to have the extra time. He was alone in the barracks, so he opened the nearest window and stretched his magical awareness to the best of his ability, but there was no sign of the messenger pigeon. Then again, he could hardly sense the squirrels chittering in the nearby trees, so that didn’t mean much.

  He sighed, missing Kade acutely in that moment. Kade’s animal magic was well honed and impressive, but it wasn’t just that. Sev always missed Kade most when he was alone, right before sleep each night and when he first opened his eyes each day. Sometimes, when his mind was hazy and his body heavy with sleep, Sev could almost feel him—the scent of his skin, warm to the touch, and the deep rumble of his voice. He would luxuriate in those moments, chasing the sensations, reshaping his memories into fantasies that had Kade with him, here and now, under the blankets and under his hands.… But then a distant cough or a creaking bed would remind Sev that he wasn’t actually alone—he was inside the soldiers’ barracks surrounded by enemies. He’d remember that he didn’t want Kade there at all, had lied to Kade to keep him from this place, and the fantasy would shatter.

  Sev closed the window now, his heart sinking. Though there were plenty of reasons why a messenger pigeon might have gone astray, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was badly wrong. He had hoped Kade would find safety and security among the Phoenix Riders, but perhaps there was nowhere for such a thing to be had.

  He stopped by Yara’s office to relay the new plans and beg what help he could get, then wandered the stables and front drive, watching as wagons—one elegant and meant for quick but comfortable travel, the other well worn and barred, clearly meant for prisoner transfer—were serviced and prepared for the journeys ahead. It was barely past midday, and Sev was surprised to see these duties being taken care of already. Rolan must be eager to set out, or have meetings that required a prompt departure the following morning.

  Whatever the reason, these early preparations meant Tristan and Sev would need only to hitch the horses to a wagon and they’d be ready to go.

  Before going back inside, Sev stared long and hard at Rolan’s carriage, imagining breaking a wheel or loosening a few screws. After the events in Ferro, he had vowed to remove the man from the equation, but that was before he’d spoken to the commander and learned of his new bargain with the governor. Though Tristan was his main focus now, Sev couldn’t help but feel his business with Rolan was incomplete. He’d have to settle with the satisfaction that Hestia was making his daily life miserable and he was stealing Rolan’s prized bargaining chip for his kingly aspirations.

  It would have to be enough.

  Sev had just returned from ransacking the laundry when the double doors of the barracks banged open behind him and ten soldiers marched down the rows of beds.

  His stomach dropped to the floor, and his hands went slack—releasing the bundle of clothes, though this was clearly not about the stolen socks and undergarments.

  They’d found him out. Someone had seen him. Yara had told.

  Sev’s mind raced, but they didn’t seize him by the arms or drag him to his execution; instead, they stood there, waiting, as if Sev was supposed to know what was happening. Yara materialized before him, her expression unreadable as she jerked her chin, meaning for Sev to follow her. He did, wondering when she had betrayed him and why it should surpri
se him in the first place.

  But as they made their way out of the barracks, across the lawns and toward the prison building, Yara sidled up to him.

  “This is not my doing.”

  It was little comfort—what was this anyway? Sev didn’t look at her, but he sensed her tension. He wanted to believe her, though he supposed it didn’t matter now. He was being taken to a cell, so whatever it was they suspected him of doing, he’d already been deemed guilty.

  Sev was calmer than he expected to be until he thought of Kade. His heart clenched with the regret of broken promises, with the knowledge that he’d never see, touch, or talk to Kade again. That his fantasies of being together again would remain just that.

  He was directed down the stairs, but when the soldiers unlocked Tristan’s cell, confusion spiked in his veins.

  When they shoved Sev inside that same cell, the confusion grew.

  Tristan had lurched to his feet when the surge of soldiers descended the stairs and now stood in the far corner of the cell, his own bewilderment plain on his face.

  A tiny, minuscule ray of hope sliced through Sev’s panic when they didn’t slam the cell door behind him, but even that flicker of optimism was short-lived. The soldiers kept staring between them: At Sev, then Tristan, then Sev again, and unease replaced whatever good feeling had tried to manifest inside him just moments before.

  “What is this?” Sev finally asked. “What’s happening?”

  “Close enough,” the nearest soldier said, turning to Yara.

  “It’s rather unconvincing, if you ask me,” she said stiffly, gaze boring into Sev’s.

  The soldier who’d first spoken shrugged. “Good thing nobody is.” Sev found himself bristling on Yara’s behalf—she was the man’s superior, and yet he spoke to her like she was just any other soldier. “Lord Rolan told us to use whatever prison guard was closest to his height and build.”