Veronyka looked down at the bloody gash across her chest, inflicted by Val… who was miles of mountain and magic away.
“This… is not good,” she managed, before she lost consciousness.
They bear your name and your blood—and your magic, too. That is, perhaps, the most terrifying part of all.
- CHAPTER 17 - VERONYKA
“PUT HER DOWN THERE. No, there. And get me some light.”
That voice. Veronyka knew that voice.
“No need,” came a reply. That was Doriyan. He had caught her and still held her now, though he was lowering her onto a hard surface.
Soft orange light pressed against Veronyka’s eyelids, bringing with it another familiar presence. Xephyra. Yes, Xephyra had been there too.
Veronyka tried to lurch upright, but hot, stinging pain lanced across her stomach.
“Easy,” came that voice again, and Veronyka blinked against Xephyra’s fierce glow until she found Alexiya bent over her.
“Tiya Alexiya,” she exclaimed—or tried, but the words came out slurred.
“Blood loss,” Alexiya murmured, ignoring Veronyka as she fussed with something out of sight. Veronyka’s eyelids were drooping again. “Get her something to eat. And drink. Something strong.”
Footsteps crunched against straw. They were inside the stables, Veronyka thought, as she stared up at sloping wooden beams and sensed the presence of animals all around her. Her favorite horse, Wind, was here—safe and unharmed. He snorted loudly to reassure her.
Veronyka turned her attention back to her aunt. “Did you find him?” she asked.
Alexiya paused, but she knew who Veronyka meant. Her father. “No,” she said softly.
Veronyka knew she should feel disappointment, but right now she couldn’t muster it.
There was a loud, tearing sound—the flash of a knife and a tug at her shirt. Alexiya was cutting away the ruined fabric to expose Veronyka’s chest. Xephyra continued to loom anxiously overhead and was giving her a rundown of what was happening.
Scrub, she said to Veronyka, right before a cold, wet cloth pressed against her chest. She couldn’t help but hiss at the stinging.
“I know,” Alexiya said soothingly, but she continued to swipe at the wound. The cold water actually felt good, so Veronyka gritted her teeth to stop from flinching.
Footsteps returned.
“Oh—uh, should I—”
“Some privacy please, Doriyan,” Alexiya snapped. Oh right, Veronyka’s chest was bared. She wanted to tell her aunt she didn’t really care—the man had seen her as a baby, had he not?—but the burning pain was becoming distracting and bringing her out of her state of shock and more firmly into reality.
What in the dark realms had just happened?
Val had attacked her, nearly killed her, through a shadow magic link.
It would have terrified Veronyka if she hadn’t seen and felt the surprise in Val’s own reaction. Val hadn’t meant to do this… hadn’t known it was possible either.
That provided some measure of relief, but even still, the possibilities were alarming. Was this the result of Val’s apex bond? It made sense that her shadow magic would be more powerful than ever before, and Veronyka had started embracing her own abilities for the first time.
It was a recipe for disaster. If tonight was a sign of things to come, of the kind of power Val now wielded, Veronyka doubted any of them would survive it.
With no small amount of trepidation, Veronyka sought out their bond. It was strangely, utterly quiet, as if her ears needed to pop. There was nothing but the most distant, echoing sense of Val. In fact, what she felt was the absence of Val, the ringing silence after a violent noise.
It was as if she had no bond at all.
The abrupt swing from one extreme to the other made Veronyka dizzy, but the muted bond seemed to promise at least one thing: She was safe for now.
Sting, Xephyra warned as Alexiya started rubbing some kind of antiseptic into the cut, muttering that it would “probably be okay without stitches,” and then wrapped a thick length of bandage across Veronyka’s chest to hold the smaller bandages in place. This, too, was reminiscent of months before when Veronyka had been Nyk and had bound her breasts.
“Here,” Alexiya said, putting a hand under Veronyka’s back. “Can you sit?”
Veronyka struggled to haul herself upright without engaging the muscles of her abdomen, but then another set of hands pressed against her back, helping leverage her. Doriyan.
Alexiya pushed his hands aside as soon as Veronyka was seated, then held out a tunic from her travel pack for Veronyka to shrug into, her old shirt nothing more than bloody scraps.
Doriyan stepped back, his gaze averted, and once Veronyka was clothed again, he held out a flask of wine and a bundle of cheese and apples.
Alexiya snatched them from him, so it was up to Veronyka to turn stiffly. “Thank you.”
He seemed gratified by her words, though he eyed Alexiya warily. She didn’t speak until she’d sliced an apple for Veronyka, adding several pieces of cheese as well, and then handed over the wine.
“Just a sip,” she said. “It should help with the pain. For now. I’d bring you to the healer, but she’s quite overwhelmed at the moment, and besides… I’m not entirely sure what I should tell her.” She paused, chewing her thumbnail as Veronyka took another drink. The wine was heavily sweetened, and definitely taking the edge off the burning sensation radiating from her chest. “What was that? I thought, for a second… Doriyan told me he’d seen you by the stables, and then we rounded the corner, and…”
“I saw her,” Doriyan said, voice rough.
“You did?” Veronyka asked.
“Who?” Alexiya demanded. Doriyan let Veronyka decide how she wanted to answer.
“Val—Avalkyra,” she said, and Alexiya sucked in a breath.
“She’s here?” she said, reaching for her knife, which lay on the table.
“No,” Veronyka and Doriyan said together. He inclined his head, deferring to her again. “It was… We have shadow magic, Avalkyra and me,” she said hesitantly. “You’ve heard of it?”
Alexiya nodded, frowning between them. “Do you have it too?” she asked Doriyan, taking an unconscious step back.
“He doesn’t have it, but Avalkyra used it on him. It’s how she managed her patrol. She used it to control, coerce, and communicate.”
“You were doing a lot more than communicating,” Alexiya said doubtfully. “She’s at the Eyrie and yet somehow she nearly gutted you here. How is that possible?”
“Her range extended over vast distances before,” Doriyan said softly. “And now she’s bonded to the apex strix? It does not seem so difficult to imagine she can do this, too.”
“It’s okay,” Veronyka found herself saying, gripping her aunt’s arm. “I can handle it. I can handle her.”
Maybe saying it aloud would make it true. That dull, ringing silence between them remained, which would have to be good enough for now.
Hurried footsteps sounded from outside the stables, and Alexiya adjusted the neckline of Veronyka’s borrowed shirt, hiding the bandages. Veronyka flashed her a grateful look, knowing that both she and Doriyan would keep this a secret for as long as Veronyka wanted it to be one.
Doriyan poked his head out, then waved in a messenger who was clearly looking for Veronyka. It was one of the clerks Cassian used to take notes during meetings and help manage his paperwork.
“Master Veronyka,” he said—Veronyka was still unused to being addressed in such a way. How much worse would it be, when people bowed and curtsied and called her queen? “The commander has called an emergency meeting. He has received word from the empire spy.”
Sev. Tristan.
Veronyka leapt to her feet, heedless of the pain. Before she could run out the door, she whirled around. “Thank you,” she said, hastily kissing Alexiya’s cheek and squeezing Doriyan’s arm. “Will you come?”
“I’m not sure we were invi
ted,” Alexiya said with a pointed look at the messenger.
“I’m inviting you,” Veronyka insisted. She was too impatient to wait, so she left them to make up their own minds and hurried from the stables.
* * *
“What news?” she asked as she strode back into the commander’s office, the clerk trailing behind. Fallon and Darius were back again, and Beryk remained at the infirmary.
The commander had been leaning over the desk, but he straightened at Veronyka’s arrival. “A messenger pigeon was intercepted by Darius on his most recent sweep,” he explained, lifting a piece of paper from the pile in front of him.
“Looking for you,” Veronyka said to the commander, before staring avidly at the letter. The messenger pigeons were trained to find Commander Cassian, to sense his magical presence. It must have flown to the Eyrie after they had already fled, then wandered the province, seeking him.… How much time had they lost?
Veronyka rounded the desk to read over the commander’s shoulder. This was fairly difficult given his height, so he handed the letter over.
Her eyes flew down the page. “Lord Rolan is traveling… relocating Tristan—tomorrow? We have to go at once. Even if we fly straight there, it’ll take at least ten hours to get to Stel.”
“Veronyka,” the commander began. “I—”
“I know what you’ll say,” Veronyka said, her voice tight. “I know we have a responsibility, that we don’t have anybody to spare—that there couldn’t be a worse time.”
“Actually,” he cut in, scrubbing a hand through the uncharacteristic stubble across his chin. He was usually impeccably groomed. “According to our patrols, all is quiet at the Eyrie, and the evacuees are settling in at Rushlea and the surrounding villages. There may not be a better time.”
Veronyka’s heart leapt, and the commander smiled. “What next?” she asked.
“We will have to split our forces. With Lord Rolan traveling south and Tristan being transferred north, we can’t be in two places at once.”
Which also meant Veronyka couldn’t be in two places.
Capturing Lord Rolan and making him pay for what he’d done would not only give her great pleasure, it would put a stop to the Grand Council vote and buy them a reprieve they desperately needed. The commander had told her his original plans for the Grand Council meeting—plans that involved the mysterious poison dart that Tristan had shown her in Rushlea during their last visit—and she’d honestly been shocked. The idea that he would assassinate Rolan’s co-conspirators and willingly putting himself at the mercy of the rest, no matter their old alliances or future promises, was far beyond his usual poise and calculation.
But the commander had made those arrangements before he’d known that Veronyka was Pheronia’s daughter, that Avalkyra Ashfire lived, and that she flew at the head of an army of strixes from legend. His plans would no longer work.
No, everything would come down to Veronyka and Val, one way or another. Either here in Pyra or there in the capital.
Veronyka would have to face Val and the throne, but she did not have to do it alone. Tristan had taught her that, made her see that she could lean on him, that they made each other better. So if Veronyka was to win this war, she wanted him by her side.
Lord Rolan and the Grand Council were important, but to Veronyka, Tristan was more important.
“I want to go to Tristan,” she said, surprising no one—the commander least of all.
“I suspect his entire patrol will feel the same way, but that leaves no one to tackle Lord Rolan’s convoy.”
There was a knock at the door, and Alexiya and Doriyan appeared. Veronyka waved them in eagerly.
“Alexiya,” said the commander in surprise. “I didn’t know you’d returned.”
“Only just,” she said, sidling in with Doriyan behind.
Veronyka smiled. “Alexiya and Doriyan can go. I believe Ximn is one of the fastest phoenixes in the flock and that Doriyan has decades of experience tailing targets?” Both nodded. “They can track Lord Rolan, and the five of us will head off Tristan’s convoy.”
“Six,” the commander corrected. Veronyka frowned, and he crooked her a grin. “I’m coming with you.”
You would tell me to help them, I know.
You would tell me to show them the way.
- CHAPTER 18 - AVALKYRA
AVALKYRA STARED FOR A very long time at the place where Veronyka had been.
Then she stared at the obsidian spearpoint, tipped in blood. Veronyka’s blood.
Avalkyra’s breath came hard and fast. First there had been that incredible surge of power as they’d connected—as they had made physical contact—and now its sudden, gaping absence as they’d both pulled back.
No doubt Veronyka had torn herself away out of fear and pain, but Avalkyra had withdrawn her magic out of shock more than anything else.
Shock and awe.
She had breached a geographical distance spanning miles using only the power of her shadow magic.
Was this what the apex bond had given her? She and Veronyka had been bonded for years and had connected over long range many times… but this kind of connection was entirely new.
Her heart raced, but as she sought the bond in her mind—eager to poke and prod these new, expansive boundaries—she found the connection silent as a crypt. She pushed harder, reached deeper… and still nothing.
Avalkyra looked around. The stronghold was a mess of rubble, broken barrels, and scattered bits of glass and straw. Everything was gray, as if the strixes sucked not just the life but the very color from the world. The bloody spear was the brightest thing to be seen—even Avalkyra’s hair was duller and less vibrant than before.
Morra stood several feet away, gaping wide-eyed at Avalkyra. Besides her flock, the shadowmage was the only other living thing in the courtyard.
“You saw?” Avalkyra demanded.
“Yes,” Morra whispered. Her gaze landed not on Avalkyra or her spear, but on the drops of fresh blood spattered on the cobblestones.
“You studied bond magic. What just happened?”
She spoke the words as a challenge—a test. The woman had claimed to have all the knowledge Avalkyra required, including how to hatch more strixes with only her bondmate, but just because she said it didn’t make it so. Avalkyra was no laywoman herself, but in all her years, in both her lives… she had never encountered anything like this.
“Is she alive?” Morra asked hoarsely.
Avalkyra narrowed her eyes. “Yes.”
She spoke sharply enough that the woman’s attention finally shifted from the bloodstains. She seemed to remember where she was and to whom she was speaking. “You know this? How?”
“I know because the wound was shallow. And”—she cleared her throat—“I felt it.” Not as a wound to her own body, but rather, like an echo or a reverberation. The ghost of the cut but not the cut itself.
“You are bonded to her,” Morra said. It was not a question.
Avalkyra lifted her chin. There was no point in hiding it. “Yes. Though…” Morra watched her closely, and though Avalkyra was about to ask what the sudden silence between them could mean, she found herself unwilling to admit she was unable to reach Veronyka. “We’ve never connected like this before.”
Morra nodded, her lips pursed—as if she sensed that Avalkyra was withholding something. “Well, you are now apexaeris; therefore, your magic is more powerful than ever before, across all your additional bonds. Entering the liminal space of a connection and breaching those boundaries is exceedingly rare, though not unheard of. There are fragmented tales and secondhand accounts of Nefyra doing something similar with Callysta.”
“Stabbing her?” Avalkyra asked dubiously. They’d been lovers, after all, not warring sisters.
A flicker of a smile crossed the woman’s face. “No, my queen. But they passed items between each other—letters, flowers… ammunition.” A frown creased her brow. “There was even a rather obscure story of Nefyra res
cuing Callysta from a terrible fall, somehow pulling her onto Ignix’s saddle, even though they were on opposite sides of the battlefield.…”
Scholars. Avalkyra was not interested in a history lesson. “You’re saying it’s because of the apex bond that this is possible? Because it’s made my magic more powerful?”
“Yes.”
“Could this boundary be crossed with anyone?”
Morra shook her head. “The accounts tell of Nefyra and Callysta alone. I believe it happens through a bond, not a temporary link.”
Well, that was disappointing. Avalkyra considered all Morra had said, and an unsettling thought occurred to her. “Could Callysta reach Nefyra as well?”
“No,” Morra said with a firm shake of the head. But before Avalkyra could bask in her relief, she added, “But Callysta was not a shadowmage. If the bonded pair both had shadow magic…”
She trailed off, letting the implication speak for itself. Callysta could not reach Nefyra, but Veronyka could reach Avalkyra.
She glowered.
“This troubles you, my queen?”
“I’ve just sliced Veronyka from neck to navel—I’m not much interested in her being able to return the favor,” she drawled, trying to mask her alarm. Their bond was silent. Veronyka was nowhere to be found. But the moment that changed, Avalkyra would have to be on her guard.
“How is your bond now?” Morra asked, her tone determinedly light.
“It is… quiet.”
“Quiet,” Morra repeated, glancing away. “What happened tonight—a true, powerful connection that trespasses time and space—can be achieved only if both parties are open and willing.”
“Which means?” Avalkyra pressed.
“It won’t happen again unless you both want it to. If you do not wish to be reached, you won’t be. There’s no need to fear her.”
Avalkyra heard Veronyka’s words from that very night replaying over and over inside her mind. You’re afraid to face me. Afraid to lose… You fear life. You fear love. You fear yourself, and you fear me most of all.
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