“You know nothing of my fears, shadowmage,” Avalkyra spat, taking a sudden, violent step forward. She gripped the front of Morra’s tunic. “That child you think I fear bled for me this very night, and she will bleed again before this war is through.”
Morra bowed her head, and only once her gaze was averted did Avalkyra release her, breathing hard through her nose as she tried to calm herself.
Veronyka could not reach her until Avalkyra allowed it. That was a comfort, even if the sudden, jarring silence wasn’t. Avalkyra had always kept her enemies close—her chief opponent in the Blood War had been her sister—but never more so than with Veronyka. If something was truly wrong with their bond… She considered telling Morra after all, but it felt like weakness to admit she couldn’t find Veronyka in her own mind, the place where she had always been master. Worse, the woman seemed too suspiciously interested in it—and in Veronyka’s well-being as a whole. Like her master Ilithya before her. Better to keep this part of her magic under wraps for now and be glad that Veronyka would not be able to retaliate.
They would come to blows again at some point—it was inevitable—but not yet.
Since the day they were born, they’d been like two runaway carts heading in the same direction on a long, twisting road.… It was only a matter of time before they collided. They’d bumped and jostled several times already, like the time Avalkyra had been forced to drop Veronyka from phoenix-back in order to save herself. What was true then was still true now: If it could only be one of them, it would be Avalkyra.
But not like this. Not the secret, silent death of an assassin. No, when they clashed for the final time, it would be spectacular. It had to be. Otherwise, what was the point of any of this?
Perhaps the bond magic was part of the reason Avalkyra enjoyed getting a rise out of Veronyka. It was so easy to provoke her, and her anger was like a newborn pup, clumsy and guileless.
Or at least it had been. Veronyka had grown. She was different now, and her anger had teeth.
But on some level Avalkyra knew that no matter what happened between them, they were in this together. No matter what she did, Veronyka would be there.
“Enough talk of Veronyka. Tell me about—”
A shudder of expectation went through her flock, and Avalkyra sought Onyx, perched atop the stronghold walls. What is it?
The strix lifted her head as if scenting the air. Fireborn.
That was her way of saying “phoenix.” It was not, however, an impending attack. When Avalkyra extended her magic, she sensed a familiar bind drawing near.
Perfect.
As Sidra approached, every strix in the vicinity turned its head to watch. Their desire for her phoenix was palpable, a gnawing ache in Avalkyra’s own belly.
Despite their hunger, they looked to Onyx—and by extension, Avalkyra—for guidance. Sidra was not a part of the flock, but she was not an enemy, either, and was to be left alone.
The command issued forward, rippling effortlessly through the group, and they did not waver. Using shadow magic in this way was easier than breathing, easier than anything she’d ever managed in a human or even phoenix mind.
It was thanks to Onyx, she knew. She who controlled the apex controlled the flock.
Well done, she told her bondmate. She knew better than to give too much praise, but too little had its own ill effects. She thought of Veronyka, of the bondmate who had rebelled and rejected her, and knew she must do things differently this time around.
Sidra landed before her, clearly on edge, though Onyx and the rest of the flock did not trouble her. Even still, as soon as she dismounted, her phoenix took to the air frantically—all grace abandoned—and made for an empty rooftop with all the speed she could muster. She looked shrunken, or maybe it was just the way her feathers wilted, her crest drooping, in the presence of so many shadowbirds.
“My queen,” Sidra said, kneeling. She, too, looked pale and weak—even with the time away from Avalkyra’s flock. “You have taken the Eyrie.”
“Very observant,” Avalkyra said sarcastically, indicating with an impatient wave that Sidra should stand. The woman noticed Morra then, but when Avalkyra didn’t dismiss her, Sidra spoke again.
“It looks different,” she muttered. The wind howled through the open stronghold doors, rattling on their broken hinges, and the scent of blood and decay permeated the air. With nothing alive left to eat, the strixes feasted on the buildings instead, gnawing on the edges of wooden beams and blocks of stone. Never satisfied.
They had come here before, around twenty years ago. The Pyraean governor Adara Strongwing had invited Avalkyra to some religious ceremony, attempting to force her eldest son on her, looking to make a match. He was a bold, conceited boy—but sheltered—and so Avalkyra and her patrol had lured him and his friends away from the celebrations into a series of escalating dares. How fast could his phoenix dive? How many times could he spin? Avalkyra and Nyx had beaten him in every possible challenge, and the boy had become more and more reckless in his attempts to salvage his pride.
He and his phoenix eventually crashed, and she and Sidra had helped him return—crying, with a broken arm and bloody nose—to the festivities. Needless to say, his parents never tried to foist him on Avalkyra again. She didn’t know what they’d expected. If you carelessly dangled a piece of meat above a fire, you couldn’t act shocked when it got burnt. He’d died in the Blood War, along with his parents and his younger sister. Last of the Strongwings, gone the way of so many other of the First Rider families.
Avalkyra sighed. Those bloodlines were old, but they had become watered down and weak. Better to be done with them. Better a fresh start.
“That’s because it is different,” she drawled. What news? she said pointedly, drawing Sidra’s attention back to her. She had sent the woman to Rushlea to learn what Veronyka had been doing there the night of Avalkyra’s attack.
“There is an insurgent military movement operating inside Pyra,” Sidra said hurriedly. “It appears the Phoenix Riders were addressing the concern in Rushlea, where they last struck. The insurgents call themselves the Unnamed.”
Avalkyra knew that term—it came from history, though the idea that these people served the same order was doubtful. She had been so certain Veronyka was spying on her, but the knowledge that she was simply trying to save the world, one backward village at a time, made even more sense.
“And what do the Unnamed want?” she asked, hands clasped behind her back as she strolled the cobblestones. Sidra fell into step next to her.
“They hate the empire, of course, but they hate the Phoenix Riders as well. Their numbers are difficult to gauge, and many of them are mere farmers and herders, but I’d estimate there are at least one hundred and fifty. They are scattered and disorganized, but they are passionate. They do not want peace. I think they could easily be rallied to your cause.”
That could come in handy. “Then rally them. Set up a meeting with their leaders.”
“Yes, my queen.”
Avalkyra considered. She turned to Morra, who had remained stationary as the two Riders walked together. At a look from Avalkyra, the woman hastened to her side.
“You said Onyx can do it for me.” She nodded at her bondmate, who fluttered down from the wall. She brought a living, breathing cold with her, enough to make the women on either side of Avalkyra shiver. “Expand my flock.”
“Yes,” Morra said, flinching back slightly from the creature, though she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her. “I must confess… I’m curious to know how you hatched any at all.”
Avalkyra’s expression was smug as she recalled her discovery of a new use for the Everlasting Flame—but her smile slipped when she remembered how Ignix had thwarted her so soon after. “I used the Everlasting Flame,” she said shortly. “Or rather, what was left of it. It was little more than a smoking ruin. Now, thanks to Ignix, it’s not even that.”
“I see,” Morra said, obviously trying to piece together
the events that led to her attack on the Eyrie.
“What does Onyx need?” Avalkyra pressed.
Morra pulled her attention away from the strix to look up at her. “You and your bond magic,” she said. “And, of course, eggs. I assume you found more in the ruins of Aura?”
“More than you can imagine,” Avalkyra said with relish.
“Well, then,” Morra said, her voice all business, though her breath was uneasy and her forehead was dotted with sweat. Onyx’s presence was clearly affecting her. “I suggest you bring them here—all of them, before you get started. Once it begins, I doubt you’ll want to stop.”
Avalkyra turned to her bondmate. Return to the ruins. Take half the flock with you and bring back as many eggs as you can carry.
Without a word, Onyx took to the sky, trailing strixes on either side.
“I have work still to do here and in the valley,” Avalkyra said aloud, continuing her slow circuit of the courtyard.
Her confidence that Rolan could actually execute his ambitious plan to send the empire’s forces into Pyra was waning. It must all come to a head if her victory was to be as awe-inspiring as she envisioned. “We must guarantee the empire will march.”
“The Grand Council meeting,” Sidra said. It should be happening any day now, if Rolan intended to march before winter set in and made campaigning difficult. “Surely we can tip the scales in your favor?”
“Rolan intends to prove the Phoenix Riders are a danger to the empire,” Avalkyra mused, staring at her spearpoint once again. The blood was slowly drying now, turning darker and blending in with the obsidian tip. Sidra followed her line of sight, a question at the front of her mind, though she dared not ask it. “So, prove it, won’t you?”
The woman’s eyes sparked. “Yes, my queen.”
But I think, perhaps, I have forgotten my path.
I think, perhaps, I am lost.
- CHAPTER 19 - ELLIOT
ELLIOT SPENT MOST OF his time at Prosperity pacing.
First, he paced outside the infirmary, waiting for Riella to be checked over.
Then he paced outside the commander’s office while the Rider Council had their second meeting of the day, alternating between trying to find the courage to enter and remaining as quiet as possible so as to hear what they were saying. He’d startled and stumbled aside when Alexiya and Doriyan turned up, but as soon as they disappeared inside, he was at the keyhole again. They were talking about a rescue mission for Tristan, and as much as Elliot would love to help, he had a rescue mission of his own in mind. He held Sparrow’s spear—unable, for some reason, to part with it—staring down at its rough grain and knotted wood, smooth in the places where her hands constantly touched.
He stopped dead and squeezed his eyes shut. He’d been hoping to appeal to Veronyka—Sparrow was important to her too—but after missing his chance when she’d initially arrived, and now waiting seemingly endlessly for this meeting to be done, his patience was at its end.
He turned on his heel with a determined tread. There was someone else he could talk to, someone in a position of authority who wasn’t in the Rider Council meeting.
Elliot poked his head through the door of the infirmary, where rows of occupied cots sat in darkness, with one or two bathed in pools of candlelight, their occupants still awake or being treated. Elliot scanned the faces until he recognized Beryk beneath the heavy bandage. He’d been slashed by one of the shadowbirds across his face and shoulder, the cuts patched up but slow to stop bleeding, according to what he’d overheard from others who’d taken similar wounds.
“Master Beryk, sir?” Elliot said quietly, stepping into the room. It was large and long, spanning the length of the building. The healer and her assistants were at the far end, and the people on either side of Beryk seemed to be sleeping.
“Master Beryk, is it?” he asked dryly. “You must have done something stupid.” He paused. “Or you want something.”
Elliot grimaced. It was true that he tended to stand upon formality when he was nervous—or guilty. Beryk’s expression was patient, though, showing there was no resentment in his words.
“It’s the latter, sir,” Elliot said, sitting gingerly on the side of Beryk’s bed. “Though I suppose it has the potential to turn into the former.”
“Out with it, then.”
“That cave-in at the Eyrie… with Ignix?” He swallowed, pulling up the image that he’d been trying so desperately to forget—Sparrow’s terrified face, calling his name, and the rubble cascading all around her.
“Yes?” he said, voice subdued.
“One of the—well, I guess she was a servant?” He felt the absurd urge to laugh. “To be honest, I don’t exactly know what her job was, but she helped Ersken, and Jana… and everyone.” And me. “She got trapped along with Ignix, buried inside that tunnel.…”
Beryk looked sad, sorry—regretful. And maybe a little bit defeated.
“We have to go back for her,” Elliot pressed. “For both of them. Don’t we?”
Beryk sank into his pillows, looking impossibly exhausted all of a sudden. “The thing is, we don’t have anybody to spare at the—”
“I’ll go,” Elliot said in a rush. “I’ll go alone. I don’t need anybody else to help. I—”
“Elliot,” Beryk cut in softly, his dark eyes kind. “We can’t spare you, either. I’ll need your help once things get settled. It’s been a hard day, and there are many who are missing or unaccounted for. No doubt word will trickle in soon enough about the girl. Have faith.”
“But, Master Beryk, I can’t just sit here and do nothing. It’s my fault, you see. We got separated, and she was all alone, and…” Elliot was babbling now, and Beryk just listened, waiting until he had the chance to say no again.
“I think you should get some sleep, lad. We all need rest. Things will look better in the morning.”
Deflated, Elliot wandered out into the hallway—and bumped directly into Veronyka.
“Sorry,” he said, but though she grimaced at the contact, she shook her head to dismiss his concerns.
“It’s nothing,” she said, before her attention latched on to the spear in his hand. “I was on my way to speak to Beryk, and… Is that Sparrow’s?”
Guilt gnawed at him. “Yes,” he said bleakly.
The look she gave him was an appraising one, arms crossed over her chest. He had met both Sparrow and Veronyka in Vayle months back under less-than-ideal circumstances. He’d been upset about his sister, anxious about betraying the Riders, and come to think of it, he’d accused the pair of them of stealing.
He and Veronyka hadn’t had much to do with each other until recently, when he helped out with Tristan’s—or rather, her patrol. And now, apparently, she was an Ashfire and heir to the throne. No wonder he quailed under her assessing gaze.
“You care about her,” she said, more statement than question. “You care about Sparrow.”
How did those simple words make him feel completely and utterly exposed? He nodded, jaw working. “I was there,” he said thickly. “I saw the tunnel collapse on her.”
“If she survived,” Veronyka said carefully, “she’ll be trapped.”
“I want to help her,” Elliot said, contemplating his boots, “but I don’t know how.”
“Those tunnels are all interconnected, many of them hidden or unknown. There’s more than one exit—more than one way through.”
Elliot seized upon her words like a drowning man clinging to a life raft. “There is?”
Veronyka nodded fervently. “Which tunnel was it?”
“The one on the south side. With the entrance next to Ersken’s office.” Part of why Elliot had been so distraught was because he’d thought that tunnel led only to the upper levels inside the Eyrie. But if what Veronyka said was true, and there were ways in and out he didn’t know about… Veronyka shifted, and that’s when Elliot noticed a loaded satchel over her shoulder—apparently she was off again. To rescue Tristan. To save someone
she cared about.
Maybe this was his chance to do the same.
She dug out a scrap of paper and smoothed it against the wall, scribbling across the page with a charcoal stub. What she’d drawn looked like a spider’s web, or the roots of a particularly old and gnarled tree.
“I’ve been making my way through them recently, for practice,” she muttered as she started adding labels. Practicing what, Elliot had no idea, but he watched hungrily as the image took shape. “I found more than a couple that no one uses.”
At last she finished. It was a mess, but it was also his best shot.
“This is the main passage everyone knows about—the one the villagers and servants would have used to evacuate,” she said, indicating an exit to the shortest, straightest squiggly line. “These lead back inside the Eyrie, up into the storage rooms, bedrooms, and main halls.” She traced her finger over several more passages. “But this one,” she said significantly, following the longest of the tunnels, “leads deeper underground before coming out here, on the eastern side.”
Elliot tried to picture the Eyrie as seen from above, on phoenix-back. He imagined the tunnel led somewhere near the switchback stair and way station.
“There are a couple of others,” she said, indicating them briefly, “but they were never properly excavated when we retook the Eyrie. I know they’re there. I’m just not sure anybody could make it through. Then again, if anyone could get through, it would be her.”
Yes, it would be. Sparrow was a survivor, and she had an ancient phoenix with her. Surely together they could find a way through whatever cave-ins or other dangers lurked there.
If they were alive.
They are. She is.
And Elliot would be there to help them on the other side.
Veronyka handed over the makeshift map, and Elliot clutched it tightly. His muscles tensed, ready to act—until he thought of Beryk, who had told him to forget it and get some sleep.
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