Wings of Shadow

by Nicki Pau Preto

  More, Avalkyra ordered. This, they had done before. Onyx was combining her magic with Avalkyra’s. This, she could do. But for shadowfire, she needed more—to dig deeper, into a secondary well she could not seem to touch.

  More, she said again. Avalkyra dragged and Onyx pulled, tearing the magic from the bottom of her well, scraping it dry.

  There was a surge of power—an exhilarating, euphoric burst—then she doubled over as a wave of fatigue rolled through her. Her magic flickered and popped in and out of existence, and in a panic, Avalkyra reached, taking magic from Onyx, from the other strixes in her flock—from anyone she could reach. It worked for a single, blissful moment before she was depleted all over again.

  Avalkyra released her hold, blinking away the black dots crowding her vision. Her magic continued to crackle for several weighted heartbeats, and then it stabilized. But she would never forget that feeling for as long as she lived. If she delved too deep, tried to take too much… the kickback from that could probably kill her—or drain her completely. She shuddered.

  “A fractured bond,” she said grudgingly, sliding stiffly from her saddle. “How is it repaired?”

  Morra seemed relieved when she replied. “The same way you establish one in the first place: openness, eye contact, and physical proximity.”

  Avalkyra sighed heavily, adjusting her riding gloves. “And then she will become my benex?”

  “Well, no… not technically…”

  Avalkyra whirled around. “Excuse me?”

  The woman had been pitching this reconciliation from the start, under the pretense that it would solve all of Avalkyra’s problems, but if Veronyka still wouldn’t be her benex…

  “Because of your bond, Veronyka is unwittingly a part of your apex flock—but she has not yet bowed to you, as these others have done.” She waved a hand to encompass the strixes perched all around. “A benex must be willingly subservient to you. Considering your fracture, and the fact that you are on opposing sides of a war, I think it is safe to say that Veronyka is neither willing nor subservient.”

  In other words, she was a problem. A problem that could be solved only by reconciliation and restoration of the bond, as well as “willing” subjugation. Avalkyra was certain she could achieve both—given enough time and coercion, she could convince Veronyka of anything—but that would mean derailing her current plans.

  It would take her where she wanted to go, if she let it, but it would also slow her down and buy her enemies time. It would even give Veronyka a chance to retaliate through the bond, as Avalkyra had initially feared.

  Her gaze landed on the shadowmage. “You certainly kept that bit quiet.”

  “I meant no harm, my queen,” Morra demurred. “I just assumed you understood the two went hand in hand—rebuilding the bond and forming some kind of alliance. Together, the two of you could—”

  “Together,” Avalkyra repeated flatly. She began to pace, working through the problem at hand. Poking at it. Finding loopholes. “In the wild, phoenixes bred and hatched their young, even without animages. The strixes should be able to do the same.”

  “In theory, yes,” Morra said, her gaze downcast. “Unfortunately, no record or account was ever made, so even if there was a way, it has been lost to time.”

  “Look at me,” Avalkyra said suddenly.

  The shadowmage peered up through her lashes, her still head bowed. The image of a perfect servant.

  Avalkyra knew better.

  Morra had been very clever these past few days, donning the guise of deference or humility, but in actuality, using those behaviors in self-protection. These were not the habits of a loyal servant.… They were the habits of a liar.

  A liar who was well versed in shadow magic.

  Avalkyra moved quick as a flash, clamping her fingers hard on Morra’s chin and wrenching her face up.

  The action did what it was meant to, surprising the woman so much that her round, wide-eyed stare met Avalkyra’s head-on, her defenses lowered, her mind open.

  And Avalkyra saw the truth. Or at least, the truth that Morra was trying to hide.

  No record or account was ever made of how strixes hatched eggs in the wild, but that didn’t mean Morra and her fellow priestesses didn’t have their guesses. Their theories and assumptions. It flashed before Avalkyra’s eyes: fire and death and sacrifice—and taking, taking, taking, what strixes did best.

  Nice try, shadowmage, she said into her mind, before releasing her with a rough shove.

  “M-my queen,” Morra sputtered, but Avalkyra turned away.

  “Sidra, hold her,” she barked, and her bindmate leapt to obey.

  As the two scuffled, Avalkyra walked toward the pile of eggs and called Onyx to her side. What she’d seen in the shadowmage’s mind was difficult to describe, so she showed her bondmate instead.

  Do you understand? Avalkyra asked.

  Onyx mulled the images over before turning her attention to the pile of eggs. Instead of replying, she nosed around until she found what she sought.

  She lifted an egg in her beak, her movements careful and deliberate, then opened her mouth wide and swallowed it whole.

  Avalkyra watched with eerie fascination, pressing a hand to her neck, her chest… following the egg’s progress as if it were inside her own body, feeling as it slowly slid down Onyx’s throat and came to rest low in her belly.

  It was one thing to see this image in Morra’s mind and quite another to feel it through her bondmate.

  There was a surge of powerful magic. Onyx had consumed the life force contained within the egg, but the life force was fighting back.

  Horror lurched up inside Avalkyra. This was beyond anything she could have ever dreamed up or imagined. This thing inside Onyx was not ready to give in. It was still alive, or struggling to be so, pulling and draining, making Avalkyra weak so it could be strong. This was worse than a bind, worse than trying to make shadowfire from nothing.… This was complete and utter vulnerability, a leech sucking her dry from the inside out.

  Just as panic threatened to overtake her, the gut-wrenching feeling began to change. Onyx was fighting back—Avalkyra saw it in her eyes even as she felt it from within. They were both bent over now, Avalkyra with her hands against her stomach and Onyx with her back arched and her feathered crest standing up like spokes on a wheel.

  Power flowed and ebbed and then flowed again. Strixes were made to take, and that’s exactly what they did. Scratching and clawing for every inch. While phoenix mothers gave their lives to the birthing pyre, strix mothers took power from their young, and their young took back. They did not give. They were devourers through and through, and in that moment Avalkyra felt true kinship with them.

  She did not give either.

  Pheronia’s words from a lifetime ago echoed in her mind. You do not give, Avalkyra Ashfire. You take and take until there is nothing left. You have all of fire’s hunger and none of its warmth.

  The struggle between Onyx and the egg reached a fever pitch. The convulsions in Avalkyra’s stomach grew sharp and pointed, and the scraping sensation she’d associated with their devouring magic became too real, too visceral.

  Was this what it meant to bear a child? Was this what Pheronia had gone through to carry Veronyka? In a flash, she saw how life might have been between them—Pheronia clutching her hand and pressing it to her belly, but her palm wasn’t slicked with blood; it was sweat. It was tears. She smiled up at her sister, grimacing in fear and pain but endless joy, too. There was no arrow protruding from her chest—there was no fiery, bloody death crowding in. No, there was only life. And Avalkyra would see Veronyka enter this world; she would hold her in her arms, sense her magic, and know that she would be a powerful mage, a Phoenix Rider, and together Avalkyra and Pheronia would help her become the greatest Ashfire queen that ever lived. Together, all of them together—

  Her gut twisted, wrenching her wide open—no, not her, but Onyx. Avalkyra cried out as her bondmate’s stomach was split, and
out came clawed feet and black feathers, a newly born strix, dripping black blood and shards of broken eggshell.

  I’m dying—we’re dying, Avalkyra thought wildly, on the ground now, writhing in pain. The hatchling staggered, its damp feathers gleaming like oil, and turned to face the mess it had made—the place from which it had come. Onyx was hunched, body tensed in agony… but she knew what to do. She cawed loudly, fiercely, and extended her magic in an oppressive wave. Avalkyra got to her feet and staggered to her bondmate’s side, watching as the hatchling cowered, lowering its head and baring its neck to them both. Submitting to the apex pair.

  A jolt of power went through them, the new bond taking root. The new creature joining the flock. Despite Avalkyra’s exhaustion, she couldn’t help but smile.

  Onyx had lost several feathers in the fight, and Avalkyra stooped to pick one up. She twirled the feather in her hand, remembering a different time, when her Nyx had lost her very first feather. It had been a moment to celebrate, a rite of passage for the phoenix and a trophy for Avalkyra.

  How do you feel? she asked her bondmate, whose ruined body was already healing and stitching itself together. Onyx shook out her feathers and extended her neck, much like a human might stretch after a period of physical exertion. The cobblestones were a mess beneath her feet, and it made a perfect kind of sense that this bloody horror show was the way strixes made new life. Nothing given, only taken.

  The same, Onyx replied.

  The same?

  Hungry.

  Avalkyra grinned. She felt breathless, exhilarated as she pointed at the stack of eggs. Go on, then.

  Despite her excitement, she grimaced slightly at the idea of having to go through that over and over again. But nothing in life came easy. Avalkyra knew that, and the sacrifice would be worth it.

  The other strixes had fluttered down, crowding curiously around Onyx and the hatchling. They gazed hungrily at the eggs and the bloody smears across the cobblestones.

  Onyx shrieked, bringing them all to order, and Avalkyra watched as one of the older, larger strixes took up an egg, just as Onyx had, and swallowed it whole.

  It wasn’t long until Avalkyra realized she would feel this too—even if it was to a lesser degree than with Onyx—but she clenched her jaw and weathered the pain. Like calluses on a warrior’s palms, the suffering would make her stronger.

  Still, her legs buckled as the next hatching began, and she leaned against the stronghold’s wall as she moved through the crowd.

  Sidra and Morra had seen it all happen, ashen-faced as the strixes fluttered and snapped mere feet away. The shadowmage looked particularly ill, but Avalkyra suspected that had more to do with her betrayal than anything else.

  With one problem solved, it was time to face another. Avalkyra didn’t have a throne room or council chambers, but she needed somewhere to hold court. Somewhere to think.

  Her gaze lit on the temple, where the toppled beacon sat. It would be as good a chair as any and give her an ideal vantage point for the hatching.

  Bring her, she ordered Sidra, before climbing the ladder. Morra followed awkwardly, her crutch dangling from one hand, while Sidra brought up the rear, withdrawing a knife.

  When she reached the summit, Avalkyra eyed the statue before sitting on the curved space where wing met neck. She lifted her head and rested her hands at her sides, regal as a queen on her throne, her strix feather still clutched tightly. Her breathing was steady, if a bit labored, her inhalations stuttering every time a strix swallowed an egg, every time a hatchling burst forward.

  Even without a benex, Avalkyra had the ability to grow her flock and maintain her current position. It was a triumph, a victory, and yet… it did not give her shadowfire.

  Perhaps it was a foolish thing to fixate on. A deadly thing. She didn’t need it, and though she could imagine in gruesome detail the destruction such a weapon could wreak, the strixes were weapons all on their own. At least if Avalkyra could not have shadowfire, no one would.

  Ignix was dead, after all.

  Unless… “Shadowmage,” she said, and though her voice was calm, the woman jumped as if she’d shouted. She was clearly waiting for punishment of some kind, but Avalkyra would get to that soon enough. “What happens when an apex dies?”

  Morra swallowed, glancing at the knife Sidra held just below her throat. “The mantle will pass to the eldest in the flock.”

  Avalkyra was watching her closely, but the woman’s mind was open and unguarded. She did not evade Avalkyra’s shadow magic touch. She spoke the truth, and yet… there was a difference between lying outright and withholding information.

  “Is that the only way an apex is made?”

  Morra was uneasy. Avalkyra leaned forward, knowing she was getting somewhere.

  “The position can be passed to a worthier candidate, much like a royal abdicating the throne. However, magical creatures do not bow down to the conventions of humanity—of kings and queens and ancient bloodlines. They bow down to power, and to those who command love and loyalty.”

  A splinter of doubt wedged into Avalkyra’s chest, worming its way in deeper with every word the woman spoke, tearing her apart from within—or was that the hatching continuing to happen in the courtyard below?

  Love and loyalty.

  Avalkyra had what she wanted, but she also had a problem in the form of another Ashfire with strength and conviction and a flock at her disposal. With Ignix dead, the mantle of apex likely passed to Cassian’s phoenix or another of the old guard. Would they hand the power over to Veronyka? Whatever Morra said about phoenixes not being interested in royalty and bloodlines, humans most certainly were. She was their chosen ruler, their Ashfire heir, and she had another human bondmate, Cassian’s son, who would be all too happy to bow before her. To be her benex.

  “Like Veronyka Ashfire?” Avalkyra asked.

  “That’s not—I only meant—”

  “Cease with your falsehoods,” Avalkyra bit out. “I know how they look at her—how you look at her.”

  Rage and frustration rose up Avalkyra’s throat, choking her. There was one way to ensure Veronyka never reached her full potential, even if it meant that Avalkyra could also never reach hers. Shadowfire would be out of reach, but the world would be hers.

  “I can’t risk her becoming apex on her own and commanding a force to oppose mine.” She nodded, as if the decision were simple. Easy. “I will have to kill her. Immediately.”

  Morra swayed on her feet, heedless of the knife at her throat, her grip on her crutch white-knuckled. She licked her lips, her eyes fluttering closed.

  Avalkyra watched the display with fascination. The woman’s affections were plain enough—she wasn’t the first person to love Veronyka more than Avalkyra—but her loyalties remained uncertain. She had withheld information in an attempt to serve both Veronyka and Avalkyra, to reunite them, perhaps, but when that failed, what would she do? She had made a promise to Ilithya, and it was up to her now to follow through on it.

  “If you do that, you’ll never have shadowfire,” Morra said, her voice surprisingly even. “But there might be a way to achieve both. A person cannot be benex in one flock and apex in another.”

  Avalkyra considered that. Getting close enough to kill Veronyka would require almost as much effort as it would to speak to her. With their bond fractured, attempting to kill her via a shadow magic link would be impossible.

  If they stood before each other, could Avalkyra force Veronyka to become her benex? Could she come up with an ultimatum powerful enough to make her bend the knee?

  If she could, she would gain shadowfire and remove the threat Veronyka posed in a single stroke, but it was even more than that.

  She’d hated the idea that she needed Veronyka, had rejected it so strongly that she had failed to see the potential in it. Wouldn’t it be sweeter to promise Veronyka salvation only to tear it away again? To chain Veronyka to her cause and force her to not only watch the destruction of the world she loved, b
ut make her complicit in it? Surely that was better than a quick death—it would be a living defeat, like the one Avalkyra had lived for nearly two decades.

  Of course, if she failed, she could use assassination as a fallback plan, but now her sights were set on something bigger.

  “There is no shame in recognizing the value of a tool,” Morra continued, still trying to spare Veronyka’s life. “Of a weapon wielded in your service… to your ends. An archer requires a bow and arrow to become a true markswoman, but there is no question who is the master… and who gets the glory.”

  “And what am I to you, Morra, Rider of Aneaxi?” Avalkyra asked idly. “A weapon wielded in your service? To your ends? Or to Ilithya’s?”

  “My ends and Ilithya’s ends are the same. I promised I would see you on the throne. I just thought, if I could keep you both alive… unite you, somehow…”

  “You want both of us alive, do you?” Avalkyra said, amused. “And where do you think that will lead?”

  She didn’t reply—not a breath of air or twitch of muscle escaped her.

  “Because as much as you might want to play both sides, I doubt Ilithya intended for you to pit us against one another.”

  “Not against, no,” Morra said steadily. “She always hoped that you would one day rule together.”

  Avalkyra laughed; the sound rang off the stone walls, causing a burst of agitated rustling below. It had been her dream once. It had been her vision for the future. Now, the memory of her foolishness coated her tongue like ash.

  “That will never happen. I will use her to gain shadowfire, and I will use her to destroy everything and everyone she loves. Then I will destroy her.”

  Morra’s expression was bleak. “I made a promise.”

  “So you’ve said. Anything to see me on the throne.”

  “Not exactly,” Morra said softly.

  What did you say, shadowmage?

  Morra lifted her chin. “Not exactly.”

  Avalkyra stood, bringing her full height to bear, looming over the woman. Sidra remained silent beside them, her knife trained on the shadowmage’s throat.