Wings of Shadow

by Nicki Pau Preto

  Everyone’s attention flickered between her and the immediate threat she posed, and then higher, farther, to the looming threat on the horizon. With every flap of the strixes’ ink-black wings came an unnatural, trailing darkness—like shadows that had become untethered from their solid forms, able to ripple like flags in the wind or hang heavy and oppressive as the thickest fog.

  Then you will lose.

  “Well?” Veronyka snapped, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. Some of the crossbowmen pointed their weapons at her uncertainly, awaiting the general’s orders, while others remained frozen in surprise.

  Veronyka realized for the first time that the rest of the Phoenix Riders had arrived and were perched atop the nearby trees and soaring stone outcrops, their bows raised. Alexiya was among them, her jaw clenched and the muscles of her neck corded with tension. They’d obviously been there for some time, watching the showdown between Veronyka, Val, and General Rast but unable to do something lest one stray arrow cause crossbow bolts to go flying and lives to be lost.

  Even as their eyes met, Alexiya nodded toward Val’s retreating form, asking if they should pursue—but the situation here was still precarious. Their presence leveled the playing field.

  The general glanced up at them, then waved at his archers, telling them to stand down.

  Veronyka lowered her blade. Behind her she sensed the other grounded Riders mounting up and preparing for battle, but she remained on her feet.

  “What will it be, General?”

  He ran a large hand through his hair. “That… How did she—what—”

  Veronyka was pleased to see genuine fear in his expression. Not so legendary after all, are they?

  This was the moment. If the sight of the Black Horde didn’t convince him that their alliance was not only preferable, but necessary, nothing would.

  “Are we enemies or allies?” Veronyka pressed.

  The general licked his lips, gaze darting from her to the Phoenix Riders and then beyond, to the strixes. As soon as he looked away, Veronyka knew.

  “This is not our fight. I will not see the empire weakened and left defenseless.” He turned to the commanders behind him. “Order a retreat at once.”

  They hesitated before complying, glancing at one another. They had seen Val, heard her words—and Veronyka’s claim of her own parentage. They were clearly conflicted, but their allegiance was to General Rast and the empire, not to the Phoenix Rider rebels. So despite their obvious reluctance to do so, they complied, shouting orders to the nearest soldiers. The army began to reconfigure and march in the opposite direction, away from the coming attack. Fleeing while they still could—though even if Veronyka and the Phoenix Riders managed to hold the strixes for a time, they would not be able to hold them forever.

  As the empire moved out, the rest of Veronyka’s flock landed on the ground and watched the approaching horde with restless fear and agitation. Their anxiety fluttered inside her chest, and their tension made her muscles taut. Their blood pounded, pounded, pounded inside her own veins, thundering in her ears.

  She could fight this, or she could use it.

  Understanding her intention, Xephyra sidled over. Veronyka leapt into the saddle, and as they turned to face the other Riders, Ignix let out an ear-piercing shriek, calling them to attention.

  “Listen, all of you,” Veronyka said into the silence. “The truth is, we need each other if we’re to win this war. We need to work together. That horde… Some of you have seen them before. Some of you haven’t, but it doesn’t matter. What you need to know is this: They have grown in number and strength, and Avalkyra has grown with them. She is not just a resurrected queen, a shadowmage, or Ashfire heir.… She is bonded to their apex, and she uses that power to control their every move.”

  Unease filled the group.

  “I thought Ignix was apex,” said Darius, giving the ancient phoenix a dubious look.

  “She is first among phoenixes,” Veronyka explained, “but each species has their own apex. Their own leader. And with Ignix’s permission, I would like to be yours.”

  Murmurs broke out. Ignix had moved close to Veronyka, and many looked between them in confusion.

  You have it, Ignix said, and everyone in the vicinity jumped. She had spoken into all their minds, and with their attention fully focused on her, Ignix turned to Veronyka and bowed her head.

  Everyone stared.

  Go on, Ignix nudged, speaking to Veronyka alone.

  “The apex is usually oldest and strongest among the ranks, but another can be chosen.” Veronyka swallowed, her mouth dry. “When the flock gives their loyalty, a group bond develops, a connection that allows them to fight and fly as one under the guidance of the apex pair. Ignix has been the apex phoenix since the Dark Days, but Avalkyra is a different kind of foe. She is my foster sister, my blood aunt, and the greatest threat to our existence since Nox herself. I don’t have all the answers, but I know her, and I know we can defeat her. Together.”

  She stopped, looking at each and every person in turn. Looking at their phoenixes. The tension in the group shifted, changed, moving from anxiety to consideration.

  “I am not her,” Veronyka said loudly. She had said it over and over again—to Val, to others, and to herself. In this moment, she truly believed it. “I will not take control from you. I will not rob you of your will. I swear it.”

  Silence descended.

  “I guess what I’m saying is,” Veronyka finished, “let me lead you. Let me guide your hands. Trust me, if you can.”

  “I can,” said Tristan immediately, voice carrying in the quiet. Then, seated in his saddle, he dipped his head in a bow. Rex did the same, bending so low that his beak touched the dirt.

  “So can I,” said Latham, surprising Veronyka with his sudden, powerful support. He too dropped his head, his phoenix following suit.

  “Of course,” said Alexiya, making Veronyka’s throat tight as she and Ximn bowed in unison.

  One by one they gave their assent, first with words and then with actions, until only Doriyan remained seated upright.

  Veronyka could imagine that handing magical control to another Ashfire would be difficult for him, but when at last he agreed, she knew his words to be sincere. She felt it. “I can, and I will.” And then he bowed as well.

  Veronyka took their allegiance, their trust, as the gift that it was.

  And in her acceptance—both of their loyalty and her worthiness of it—power shot through her like an arrow. It reminded her of how she’d felt the first time she’d looked into Xephyra’s eyes, but while that bond had been light and joyful, this bond was heavy and powerful. She understood what Ignix had said about the burden of the apex status. All these lives were in her hands.

  She breathed deeply, her heart expanding inside her chest, filling her with fire. With hope. Conversely, next to her, Ignix seemed to sag in relief, freed from a weight she’d carried for far too long.

  Her flock lifted their heads and opened their hearts to her. She felt their bonds strengthening and solidifying, and they felt it too. They looked at her and at one another, and Veronyka realized that not only did the apex status bring them closer to her—it brought them closer to each other. She was the web that connected them, the threads that bound them, but their strength and power came not from her, but from their togetherness.

  “Apexaeris,” said Beryk, his voice loud and carrying as he turned to Veronyka. “What are your orders?”

  Veronyka smiled so hard her face hurt. Then she blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes and released a shuddering breath. She had asked for their trust, and now she had to earn it.

  This is shadow magic, she said. The words rang out between them, a group conversation rather than an individual one. She had never been able to speak into multiple minds before.

  Some of them jolted in their saddles as they had when Ignix spoke to them, while others, like Tristan’s patrol, had a better idea of what to expect, though they stil
l appeared rattled.

  It’s how I’ll speak to you when we separate, and it’s how you can speak to me. Just reach for me like you would your bondmate, and I’ll hear you.

  She looked to Elliot, who had put Riella in his phoenix’s saddle but remained standing. His father was by his side, uncertain where to go in the chaos, but clearly preferring to be near his children. Ignix was next to them with Sparrow on her back.

  “Get them out of here,” Veronyka said, indicating the non-warriors William, Riella, and Sparrow. “Drop them beyond the ridge; they should be able to find shelter until this is over.” The strixes wouldn’t be interested in them—not with Val at the helm. They’d be interested in phoenixes and soldiers and little else.

  Elliot was pale and wide-eyed, realizing he had more Riders than mounts and trying to find a solution.

  Help him? Veronyka asked Ignix, who nodded. She fixed Elliot with her piercing gaze, and he sprang into action, helping his father up behind Riella and then climbing behind Sparrow on Ignix.

  “We’ll return as soon as we can,” Elliot promised, as he and Ignix wheeled into the sky, heading west.

  Veronyka turned back to the others. “We need to stop their forward progress,” she said, switching to verbal communication as she spoke to the group. “Without Riders, they don’t have long-range weapons of their own, so space is our friend. It will also counteract some of their abilities. Avoid their shadows as best you can—or any touch at all, in fact. Those talons do more than tear flesh. They seemed to kill it on contact. The less we have to engage with them directly, the better.” She pointed at Fallon. “Your patrol will arrange themselves at our rear and loose arrows—as many and as fast as you can—to hold the line. Nothing gets past you.”

  “Got it,” he said, gesturing to his Riders to ready their weapons and prepare extra artillery.

  “Beryk,” Veronyka continued, turning to the older man. “Split your patrol and guard the flanks. I know the strixes want to engage us, but we can’t lose track of any of them and risk an attack on civilian settlements. Keep them here. The geography should do some of the work, and your Riders will do the rest.” At last she looked to Tristan. “We’re going to slice through and divide them into smaller groups, then send them left or right or into your back line,” she said, glancing to Beryk and Fallon.

  “We’re only five without Elliot,” Tristan said, gesturing to Latham, Ronyn, and Lysandro.

  Veronyka considered. “They’ll fly in a trivol pattern, and we’ll have to ride as a pair.”

  A queenstrike, Tristan said in his mind. The modern patrol system was based on the ancient First Rider attack patterns: They had flown in two teams of six, with Queen Nefyra and her second-in-command, Callysta, flying as a separate pair. The apex-benex pair, Veronyka realized. The pattern was technically called a duovol. It was only a “queenstrike” when a queen led the charge.

  The word sent a chill down her spine, but it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience. She thought perhaps she liked it. He flashed her a wide grin.

  “What about the soldiers?” Fallon asked as his patrol began to fan out across the width of the road, their mounts itching to take to the sky. He glanced toward the general, who was arguing fiercely with his commanders and demanding someone saddle his horse. The tent was partially taken down, the task abandoned in the face of the coming horde, and papers and packs were strewn everywhere. “Are we fighting them or protecting them?”

  A shriek tore through the cacophony of shouts and rumbling, stomping feet. The strixes were nearly upon them.

  “Forget them for now,” Veronyka shouted, urging Xephyra up into the air. “And get into position.”

  Fallon’s patrol flew into staggered ranks of three just behind Veronyka and the others, and together they raised their bows and nocked their arrows, preparing for the onslaught. Beryk zipped to the left and Alexiya to the right, each leading a trivol to sweep wide of the mass of birds winging their way, ready to hold the perimeter, though they didn’t yet engage.

  Veronyka’s magic stayed with them, her bonds allowing her to feel their actions and decisions, but she didn’t yet attempt to take hold. She’d have to feel it out as the battle developed.

  Tristan’s patrol remained just in front of Fallon’s line of archers, poised and ready in the saddle, bobbing up and down in place.

  The strixes were closing the distance between them with alarming speed, but as the Phoenix Riders moved into defensive positions, their pace came to a slow halt.

  And then Veronyka saw her. She was barely visible through the constantly shifting wings, but Val was there in the middle of her horde, mounted on Onyx. Calm and cold—plotting, assessing.

  Veronyka took a deep breath and surveyed the battle unfolding before them.

  This was where they would make their stand. It was in Pyra, where the phoenixes and the strixes first met, so it seemed fitting to do it here again.

  She only hoped that the warriors of light could claim victory once more.

  Before fighting is all you know.

  - CHAPTER 54 - AVALKYRA

  AVALKYRA HAD FELT THE moment Veronyka became apex.

  She was no longer a potential benex, an ally in her horde.

  She was an enemy within.

  Avalkyra had known it would happen, of course. Had felt it in her bones. After hours of drifting between sleep and wakefulness, poison singing in her veins, she had dreamed that Ignix survived, that she had named Veronyka her worthy successor and bowed her head.

  When she woke, Avalkyra had convinced herself it was only a dream—as if that statement could ever really be true for a shadowmage—and decided she would give Veronyka one last chance to save herself. One last chance to save her people. Even after her refusal in Rushlea, even after the poisoning, Avalkyra had graciously offered it.

  But no, Veronyka still thought she could stop this war. Still thought she could save everyone and everything. That brazen, high-minded heroism had won her a flock of her own and had taken shadowfire out of reach for Avalkyra forever.

  Her emotions spiked as she stared at her enemies ranged before her. Heartbreak, betrayal, disappointment… each flitting through her mind, then out again, barreling through her like a windstorm.

  So much boiling rage and endless frustration.

  Why, then, could she not stop smiling?

  Now that she thought on it, this was what she’d always wanted. What she’d imagined ever since Pheronia had refused her letters and torn her treaty in two.

  If they could not rule together, they would tear each other apart. That war had ended with a fizzle, not a bang, but the world had seen fit to give Avalkyra another chance.

  Here she was again, sister against sister, except this time they would not fight in council chambers and war rooms, through treaties and letters and endless back-and-forth.

  They would fight here and now, on wings, as was their birthright.

  They would meet in battle not as mere sisters, but as divine powers—as forces of nature—and the world would shake and tremble before the clashing of goddesses in the sky once more.

  They would fight with ash and fire, with smoke and shadow, and only one of them would be left standing.

  Forgive me, Onia, she thought, recalling the promises she had made. I cannot protect her from everything. I cannot protect her from myself.

  For two hundred years, Nefyra and I fought, hunting Nox’s children, chasing them to every corner of the world.

  - CHAPTER 55 - VERONYKA

  NOW THAT SHE’D SEEN how Veronyka had set the field, it appeared that Val was preparing counter maneuvers.

  Well, well, if it isn’t Veronyka Ashfire, Apex Master of the Phoenix Riders, Val sneered. You mean to contain me? She sounded amused, though the humor was pointed. You can try.

  Veronyka wrenched her mind away. Val would try to bait her, to distract and emotionally compromise her, and Veronyka could not allow it. Instead, she let Val’s words pass in and out of her head, like
so much useless white noise.

  Then a wave of strixes broke free of the flock—rolling down the mountainside like an avalanche. Veronyka sensed the tremor in Tristan and Ronyn to her right and Latham and Lysandro to her left, the sudden fear, sharp as a blade.

  Steady, she said, emanating all the calm she could muster as the strixes drew nearer and nearer—beaks and claws and vicious, inky eyes distinguishing themselves from the dark mass of feathers and wings and strange shadow smoke. Steady.

  Veronyka turned in her saddle to find Fallon. His entire patrol had ignited, and the sight of those rippling, crackling flames kindled hope in Veronyka’s heart. She looked back around, at the coming darkness. Now.

  “Loose!” Fallon cried, and a volley of arrows arched over Veronyka’s head to descend before her, leaving perfect fiery crescents in the sky before landing home. The first line of strixes dropped, their terrible shrieks cutting through the night.

  Veronyka’s breath caught; she’d felt it. Through Val, she had a connection to these creatures, and their pain echoed in her mind, raw and terrible.

  There were more coming up behind them, and Veronyka had no time to lament their fate, no time to think of another, better way. She closed her eyes and pushed the feelings down as far as they would go. Buried them deep, beneath all her other bonds, and locked them away inside her mental safe house. They were still there, still a part of her, but distant. Numbed.

  Veronyka opened her eyes, and the next charge was upon them.

  Another volley of arrows. Another flaming arc.

  The strixes grew hesitant as they recognized the danger, but those that broke away from the charge—dipping and weaving or pulling back around—were either shot down by Beryk or Alexiya, who guarded their flanks, or sent careening into the main horde by Val’s heavy magical touch. Slowly she got them back under control, and the charge slowed to a trickle, then stopped.

  Veronyka clamped down on the feeling of triumph that rose all around her. This wasn’t a victory—this wasn’t anything. Val was testing them, seeing what they would do.