Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  Veronyka didn’t know how long they watched, but hours—or maybe minutes—later, the egg finally cracked open, and a phoenix fell sideways onto the burning embers. It was a brilliant, vivid red—a color Veronyka had never seen in all her life, brighter than a jewel, more exquisite than dyed silk.

  She stared at the creature, the jubilation brimming inside her tinged with complete and utter astonishment—they’d actually done it. After all this time, they’d actually hatched a phoenix.

  As the bird struggled to its feet, its damp down hissed and smoked, making contact with the charcoal beneath it.

  Forgetting that this was a firebird, that heat couldn’t harm a creature born from ash and flame, Veronyka gasped and reached forward. Val blocked her outstretched hand, giving Veronyka a moment for her brain to catch up with her body.

  The phoenix stumbled over the bits of broken shell, impervious to the heat, until at last it steadied itself and shuffled around to face them. It looked like any ordinary newly hatched chick—wobbly and unstable—with barely there wings and a narrow, spindly neck that could hardly hold up its head. But its eyes . . . They were wide and large and alert.

  And they latched on to Veronyka.

  She exhaled, a last breath of air that marked the end of an old life—one that was small in scope and purpose. When Veronyka drew air again, it was the start of something new—a life that promised wind-tossed hair and endless blue skies and fire that burned hotter than the sun. Her fingers tingled, her senses sharpened, and the world was alive in a way that it had never been before. Her magic buzzed inside her, drumming like a second heartbeat—or maybe that was this creature’s pulse beating in time with her own.

  In that instant Veronyka knew Val had been right about the bond between animage and phoenix. It wasn’t love—such a small word couldn’t begin to encompass the feelings of respect and devotion, of trust and codependence that existed between human and beast. The bond was a unity that was written in the stars, older than the empire and the valley and the mountains, older than the gods, a connection that not even death could shake. Endless, limitless, and somehow timeless, Veronyka’s fate was tied to this creature, and they would always be together.

  They were bondmates.

  A cool breeze slipped across her skin, and Veronyka broke eye contact. The cabin was glowing with pale dawn light, the front door wide open.

  Val was nowhere in sight.

  She returned some time later. Wearing a mask of indifference, she carried a new sack of rice, some cornmeal, salt fish and dried deer meat, a small ceramic jar of honey, and a bag of dates. The dates were a rare treat—expensive and grown only in the province of Stel. Even corn was hard to come by in the mountains, though some farmers worked the crop on the lower rim.

  Veronyka got to her feet, leaving her phoenix on the ground and wiping sweaty palms against her trousers. Val often stormed off when she was upset, disappearing for hours—or days—with little by way of explanation. If Veronyka was lucky, the time would allow Val to cool off and forget her anger. If Veronyka was unlucky, Val’s rage would ripen and rot, becoming all the more potent in their time apart.

  Sometimes Veronyka would have no idea what had set Val off—but this time she thought she knew. The first phoenix should have been Val’s—she was the eldest, and she’d been the one to find the eggs. Guilt nagged at Veronyka, but she fought hard not to let it spoil this sweet, shining moment. Val would be fine. They simply had to wait for the second egg to hatch.

  The phoenix chirruped softly as it pecked around the edge of the fire. The warmth had turned its fiery red down into a soft puff, and its beak and feet were as golden as the phoenix statues Veronyka had seen as a child in the gods’ plaza in Aura Nova—before they’d been taken down. Once guardians and defenders of the empire, the Phoenix Riders had abandoned their posts and sworn their loyalty to Avalkyra Ashfire instead. This made them traitors, and phoenixes along with them. While Avalkyra was the true heir to the throne, she’d committed treason and been labeled a criminal before she was old enough to be crowned, and had been chased from the empire. The governors threw their support behind the nonmagical sister, Pheronia, instead, while Avalkyra set herself up in Pyra. She and her supporters had soon been deemed “rebels,” refusing to abide by empire law or answer for their supposed crimes. In the years following her death, the empire had destroyed anything that could be construed as supportive of her and her legacy—phoenix imagery most of all.

  It was no easy task, as phoenixes had been a part of empire history from the very beginning. They were symbols of the royal line and sacred to the empire’s highest god, Axura—translated to “Azurec” in the Trader’s Tongue, the common language of the empire. One by one temple statues were removed and sacred prayers altered. Axura—who had always been depicted as a phoenix—was anthropomorphized, and even songs, poems, and plays that featured phoenixes were forbidden.

  Though they had begun this process during the Blood War, it had taken the Council of Governors years to finish the job. Veronyka had caught small glimpses of the phoenixes’ continued presence up until her last days in the empire several months ago: faded frescoes peeking out from under a peeling coat of paint or crumbling concrete revealing glass mosaics underneath.

  Veronyka would often daydream about returning to those places on phoenix-back, scraping the paint clean or cracking the sidewalk in half to reveal the truth beneath.

  With a jolt, she realized that this daydream now had the potential to become reality.

  Veronyka watched her sister warily; first Val put away the food stores, then she tore open the bag of cornmeal with her teeth, pouring some into a small bowl and stirring in dollops of honey, producing a fine, grainy paste.

  “For the bird,” she said at last, nodding her head in the direction of the phoenix. “Later it will be ready for dates and fresh fruit, if we can get them.”

  Val knew everything there was to know about phoenixes, thanks to their maiora, who had been a Phoenix Rider back in her day—one of the few who had escaped the empire’s notice, at least for a time. Their grandmother loved to tell stories, and while Veronyka had been interested in epic battles and romances, Val had wanted to know more practical things.

  Veronyka took the bowl from Val, who refused to meet her gaze, and placed it on the ground next to the phoenix. The bird inspected the mixture for a moment before dipping its beak into the sticky-sweet concoction. “The other one’s gonna hatch soon, right, Val?”

  Val looked at the rocklike egg, sitting among the burning coals.

  “Going to,” she said, avoiding the question and closing the shutters with a loud clack.

  The phoenix’s head popped up at the sound, but it quickly returned to its meal. The broken shutters blocked out most of the late-morning sunlight, leaving the cabin in near darkness, save for the warm glow of the fire.

  Strange that there were three of them now, when it had just been Veronyka and Val for most of their lives. Their parents had died in the Blood War, and their grandmother, who had raised them for a time, had been beaten to death by an angry mob almost ten years later.

  While the immediate aftermath of the war was apparently the worst, there had been many incidents throughout the years—trials of famous Riders discovered in hiding, small groups of rebels and dissidents rounded up and executed—that had caused new fervor to ripple through the empire. The council—the ruling body of the empire, made up of the four provincial governors as well as lawmakers, bankers, landowners, and other important political leaders—made an example of anyone who didn’t fall in line, doling out punishments that were swift and severe. Animages grew more fearful and went deeper into hiding, while those who’d grown to hate them thanks to the war became eager to hunt them down and ferret them out again.

  It was one such riot that had taken their grandmother. It began outside the courthouses after a trial and spread toward the Narrows, where many animages lived in secret.

  When their maiora heard the mob
coming, she’d told Veronyka and Val to flee and leave her behind. The girls were small and fast and could slip out windows and slink through alleys that she could not.

  Veronyka had refused and held fast to her grandmother’s old, withered hand. When their door had burst open, her grandmother turned to her, as calm and reassuring as the eye of the storm.

  “Protect each other,” she’d whispered in Veronyka’s ear before being wrenched from her grasp and dragged toward the door.

  Val had wrapped an arm around Veronyka’s middle, hauling her away, but Veronyka had refused to go quietly. She’d kicked and screamed and bit Val’s arm, but her fighting was useless. She’d been forced to stare, wild-eyed and panicked, as her maiora was swallowed by the seething crowd. Veronyka didn’t know how they’d found her grandmother or what had given her away, but the mob was too worked up to be reasoned with.

  Val pulled Veronyka out the small window, only just evading the grasping, clawing hands of the crowd.

  As they fled from the chaos, her grandmother’s whispered words echoed in Veronyka’s mind. Protect each other.

  At the time she’d taken the words to mean that she and Val must look out for each other, but the longer she thought about it, she suspected that her grandmother had meant more than that. In the face of hatred and fear and death, her maiora had spoken about love and protection.

  That was what being a Phoenix Rider meant to Veronyka. Riders were guardians and protectors, and that was what Veronyka wanted to be as well. It was how she’d keep her grandmother’s memory alive.

  Still, Veronyka had hated Val in that moment, resenting the ease with which she’d left their maiora behind. Veronyka had fought, no matter how fruitless, but Val had not.

  With time and perspective, Veronyka realized that Val had been what she’d needed to be for them to survive. Veronyka’s tears and panic helped nothing. It was Val’s determination and levelheadedness that had gotten them through. She was only eleven when their maiora died—just a year older than Veronyka—and had shouldered the burden of caring for them both ever since.

  As Val lay down on their pallet against the wall, a pang of guilt throbbed low in the pit of Veronyka’s stomach. Val had done so much for her, had given her more than Veronyka could ever repay. Now Val had given her a bondmate—the greatest gift of all.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Veronyka left the phoenix—the simple act of putting distance between them was like a physical pull on her heart—and joined her sister. They always slept together out of necessity, for warmth or because of limited space. Val would never admit it, but Veronyka knew they slept side by side for comfort, too.

  As she settled in next to her sister, the knot of unease that had tightened inside her after Val’s disappearance loosened somewhat. Protect each other. No matter what, that was what they did—what they would always do. Val was difficult. She had the capacity for dismissiveness and cold cruelty. But she was also Veronyka’s sister, the person Veronyka loved and respected—and yes, feared—most. They would get through this, just like they’d gotten through everything in their lives: together.

  Val faced the wall, and Veronyka stared at the back of her head. Her sister’s long dark-red hair pooled on the mat between them, the color rare and particularly unique among brown-skinned Pyraeans. The light of the fire made the strands glow, glinting off beads and brightly colored thread woven into dozens of braids. The plaited hairstyle had been a Pyraean tradition since before the Golden Empire, during the Reign of Queens, when Pyra was ruled by a succession of fierce female sovereigns—Phoenix Riders every one. Both men and women would adorn their hair, using valuable gemstones or found keepsakes to commemorate important events and milestones.

  Even after Pyra became a part of the empire, Phoenix Riders would wear phoenix feathers and bits of obsidian, marking them as part of the elite class of warriors. Each piece of volcanic glass, often used for spears and arrowheads in the old days, represented a victory in battle, a token of pride and a mark of experience. It was said that Avalkyra Ashfire had so many knotted into her hair that they scraped and sliced her bare skin, leaving a mantle of blood about her shoulders.

  Braids had become increasingly rare in the valley, where the decorations could be seen as a mark of loyalty to Phoenix Riders and Avalkyra Ashfire—and disloyalty to the empire’s governors. Val had refused to give up the tradition, so the sisters had worn headscarves for most of their childhood. It was a common accessory in the empire, helping them blend in and hide the evidence of who they truly were.

  Veronyka ran her hands absently through Val’s silky red hair, which was in desperate need of care. Knots and tangles had formed among the loose strands, and many of her braids were sloppy and growing out. They had to be periodically redone, so that the heavy beads and keepsakes didn’t fall out, and since Pyrean hair was straight and shiny, treated with wax or oil for better grip. Unless Veronyka did it for her—and even that was something Val barely tolerated—her sister was completely uninterested in washing, brushing, and caring for her hair.

  While Val’s deep red shade was prized among their people, like the fiery plumage of the sacred phoenix, Veronyka’s hair was common black. It was a bit shorter than her sister’s, but dressed similarly with plaits accessorized with charms and colored thread. They even had a few matching braids, and sometimes Veronyka liked to seek them out, to remind herself of all they had shared, despite their differences.

  She found the pearlescent shells from the time both girls had learned to swim with their maiora in the Fingers, the network of rivers that split from the Palm and snaked past the capital city. The entire system of rivers was called the Godshand, fed by the River Aurys, which began atop Pyrmont and split in the valley to spread across most of the empire. Their grandmother said that all Pyraeans should learn to swim in the Aurys, the river of their homeland, and that the water of the Fingers was as close as they were going to get.

  After weeks of practice, young hearts full of determination, both Veronyka and Val swam to the opposite bank of the fattest Finger, collected a shell from the pebbled shore, then swam back. Val had been fastest, of course, but for once she hadn’t made Veronyka feel lesser because of it. They’d both sat on the riverbank afterward, faces glowing and teeth chattering, while their maiora braided the shells into their hair.

  With a wistful sigh, Veronyka put the shell-capped braids aside and located the wooden beads they’d carved and painted by hand during their first night spent in Pyra, and next to those, the strips of cotton they’d twined into their hair, dipped in ink and ash to commemorate their grandmother’s death.

  Each braid marked a memory of their lives together, woven in a living tapestry, forever binding them.

  When Val’s breathing turned steady, Veronyka released her hair, sat up, and crept toward the fire. Quietly she picked through the embers at the edge of the hearth, the phoenix watching curiously. Veronyka saw flickers of its mind through their bond—a series of sights, sounds, and sensations—that made the world around her feel brighter and more interesting. The phoenix was too young to form any real thoughts or reflections, but already its presence was reassuring to her.

  When she found what she was looking for—parts of curving, jagged phoenix shell—Veronyka carefully selected a piece that wasn’t too sharp. Setting it aside, she found the small box of thread and wax that she used to maintain her and her sister’s hair. There was a wooden comb inside as well, plus twine, needles, a file, and other small tools. Veronyka unearthed the file, carefully wearing down the sharp edges of the eggshell, which was a good deal thicker than regular bird shells. Then she used a needle to carefully twist a hole through the thickest part, as she’d seen her grandmother do with the delicate river shells from the Fingers.

  Finally, she pulled forth a chunk of loose hair from the nape of her neck. She wasn’t hiding it, exactly, but she didn’t want the braid to be too noticeable in case it made Val angry. Surely she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that Veronyka
had a bondmate and she did not.

  For now.

  According to Val, the bonding process began before the phoenix even hatched, which was why it was important to remain close during the entire incubation period. Each phoenix chose their bondmate before they entered the world, making a magical connection before a physical one. And for some reason the first phoenix had chosen her.

  Veronyka worked hand-warmed wax through her hair before she began braiding, the familiar twisting motions soothing some of her remorse.

  Val would forgive her—she always did. Soon the second egg would hatch, and everything would be right again. They’d raise their phoenixes together and become Riders just as their parents—and their grandmother—had been.

  The thought lit a fire in Veronyka’s belly.

  With phoenixes, she and Val would be able to travel all over the empire with ease. They’d have to be careful, of course, but soon they’d find others like them—phoenixaeres in hiding. The empire couldn’t have killed and captured them all. There had been hundreds once. And there would be hundreds again. Together, the Riders would be stronger, strong enough to help others, and they wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.

  And this time, if someone dared to knock Veronyka and Val’s door down and come after their loved ones, Veronyka would have the power to fight. What happened to their grandmother wouldn’t happen to anyone she cared about ever again.

  Reaching the end of her hair, Veronyka tied off the braid with some twine, then carefully threaded the piece of shell into place with several more knots. She looked down at it, then at the phoenix pecking the ground next to her. Not just any phoenix, but her phoenix.

  Smiling, Veronyka scooped up her bondmate and crawled back in next to Val. The phoenix brought more than just physical comfort; calmness settled over Veronyka like a warm blanket, and sleep descended at last.