Crown of Feathers

by Nicki Pau Preto

  Veronyka glanced at Tristan, worried for how he’d react to so much fire, but he was focused on the fighting. His mental safe house must be holding up well. She’d sensed him working on it inside the Eyrie, and some instinct—or maybe the information Val had given her about how she’d controlled Xephyra—told her that she could lend Tristan her strength, that she could help him through their connection. She didn’t know if it had worked, only that Tristan’s erratic breathing had slowed and the tension in his mind cleared.

  Taking up her serrated knife once more, Veronyka found an untouched rope and got to work. She still wore a quiver of arrows, and her bow was strapped to her back, but the weapon made her feel like a fraud. She could barely draw the string or hit a stationary target, never mind kill a man in the middle of a battle. She tried to let Tristan’s reassurances wash over her: You have other strengths, you know.

  Like hacking at ropes?

  Her palms were so sweaty, she could barely hold the handle, but she did her best to focus. While Veronyka might be able to block out the feelings of other people and animals, Xephyra was bonded to her, and their joint emotions swirled together as the fight wore on. The war cry that ripped from Xephyra’s beak left Veronyka’s throat dry, and the heat that rippled from her wings caused Veronyka’s skin to itch.

  She encouraged her bondmate to mimic Rex’s flight patterns, and after much nudging and convincing, Xephyra began to follow him through his dives and circles. The other two females, on the other hand, did whatever they pleased. Xatara was screeching relentlessly, ripping and snapping at anyone and everyone, not just the soldiers. Luckily, the attacking arrows drew her attention more than the defenders on the wall, so she harassed their encampment below and tore climbers from the wall with beak and talons.

  Xolanthe focused her attention on the village gate, which was billowing clouds of black smoke as it burned. Veronyka didn’t understand why the phoenix flew in that direction; maybe she felt somewhat territorial about the area or was drawn there by the fire.

  Veronyka watched, heart in her throat, as Xoe dove among the attackers. She was smaller than most of the full-grown phoenixes, but it didn’t stop her from wreaking havoc on the soldiers storming the village. The more they tried to attack her, the more vicious her dives became. They’d brought nets with them, similar to the one the commander had used to trap Xephyra, and Veronyka bristled at the sight of the hated metal mesh. They tried several times to catch Xoe, but she managed to dodge their attempts, screeching in irritation and swooping back around.

  In a gust of flame and sparks, she dropped among them, only to rise again with her claws sunk deep into the side of the massive battering ram. Phoenixes could carry heavy loads, but even still, she struggled to take flight. The soldiers holding it clung desperately for a moment, then dropped to the ground, backing away and taking up bows and spears instead. Another net flew into the air, snagging on the ram but missing Xoe’s wing by mere inches.

  Fingers of dread slipped down Veronyka’s spine. She tried to throw her magic to the phoenix, to warn her, but she was too far away, and there was too much happening in between them for her to establish any kind of connection. Instead she stared, unmoving, as Xoe pumped her great wings, slowly rising from the mass of soldiers surrounding the front gate, dragging the ram with her.

  From underneath her feathers her fire burned, growing hotter and brighter as her plumage began to smolder, then burst into flame, heat waves rippling over the grassy plain as the phoenix and the wooden ram ignited. With a victorious shriek, she dropped the burning assault weapon among the soldiers and spread her wings for flight, unencumbered by the heavy object that had been gripped in her claws.

  Veronyka let out a sigh of relief—but it was too soon.

  One of the attacking archers lined up his shot and loosed, the arrow lodging itself in the middle of Xoe’s chest. She shrieked, and the agonized sound drew the attention of everyone in the stronghold.

  Xoe beat her wings and struggled to fly, but she was still within range. As the embedded arrow shaft caught fire, three more followed it, peppering the side of her body and her left wing.

  She keened, her inner light flickering as she banked hard, flapping her good wing, trying to remain aloft. But her flight was imbalanced and sluggish, and the sparks that flew from her body turned to ash as she fell among the rooftops of the silent village. She disappeared from sight, but Veronyka knew, somewhere deep in her magical senses, that the phoenix was gone. She had no bondmate to gather her body or build her pyre, and by the time someone at the stronghold found her—if anyone survived this attack—would it be too late? Or would she choose not to come back anyway, allowing her fire to turn to smoke, her flesh to ash, and her spirit to be free at last?

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Phoenixes were magical, immortal if not slain. They weren’t supposed to be in chains, behind bars, or shot down by empire soldiers. Xoe had fought bravely for the Riders only to have her moment of victory ripped from her and her life extinguished.

  A violent screech rent the night, and Xatara burst into sudden, savage flame. She dipped into the trees that dotted the mountainside below, only to surge up again moments later with two soldiers clutched in her talons. She dropped them from a sickening height, their terrified screams and burning bodies disappearing into the forest below, but Xatara wasn’t finished.

  She shrieked again, swooping around the edge of the compound and leaving everything—weapons, ropes, and people—burning in her wake. Flaring brighter than the sun, so bright that Veronyka had to shield her eyes, Xatara flew ever upward, farther and farther away. Where she was going, Veronyka didn’t know, but soon she was nothing more than a distant speck of light . . . then nothing at all.

  The defenders watched her go, and Veronyka could feel their resolve wavering. Two phoenixes gone in moments, and the others emitting low, sorrowful cries of sadness and despair. One of the males abandoned the fight to soar in melancholy circles over the village. It occurred to Veronyka that she didn’t know which phoenix had laid the egg inside the enclosure, but she guessed it was Xoe, and this mourning male phoenix was her son.

  Veronyka turned away, mind racing frantically as she tried to regroup. What now?

  Tristan’s words came back to her once more: You have other strengths, you know.

  What strengths? How did being a strong animage help them when they were under attack?

  And then, as if she were having a conversation with him in her mind, Tristan’s voice answered with more remembered words: If phoenixes have the desire to fight on behalf of the humans they care about, why not other animals as well?

  Veronyka whirled around, heart racing. “Tristan!” she shouted, running to his side as he helped hoist a barrel of rocks and debris over the edge of the wall, emptying the contents down on the climbing soldiers below. He left Ronyn to finish the job and came to Veronyka’s side, chest heaving.

  “We lost both of them,” he said, running a filthy hand through his hair, leaving blood and dirt smeared across his forehead. His eyes were wild, and his hands were trembling with fear, adrenaline, or maybe both.

  “I know,” Veronyka said, and they both turned as a wrenching crunch rose above the din. Part of the village gate collapsed in a cloud of smoke, and the only thing that kept the soldiers from rushing into the newly made gap was the fire licking up the sides of the wood and the scrambling defenders tossing spears and loosing arrows into the open space. It was only a matter of time before the entire structure gave way.

  “Tristan,” Veronyka said, drawing his attention back to her. “I have an idea, something . . . reckless.”

  His focus sharpened at the familiar phrase, and he gave her his full attention.

  “You told me my greatest strength was my magic,” she continued hurriedly, as people rushed back and forth, taking advantage of the lull in climbers to reposition themselves and restock provisions. “But that’s not just me—that’s all of us. This stronghold is full of ani
mages, and it’s full of animals, too. If the phoenixes chose to fight . . . maybe the rest of the animals would too.”

  His eyes lit in realization. While not every person who lived at the Eyrie was an animage, most of them were. If they worked together with the animals, from the lowliest mouse and pigeon to the mighty Wind . . .

  “Together,” Veronyka added, “we outnumber the soldiers.”

  He was nodding, over and over again, and after one final, decisive dip of the head, a hint of a smile appeared on his lips. “Okay.”

  Turning to face the courtyard, Tristan cupped his hands and bellowed in a commander-worthy battle voice, calling everyone’s attention. They had mere moments before more ropes would fly up and a new wave of attackers made an attempt on the stronghold. The phoenixes had slowed the climbers down, but they took longer and longer now to build their heat and make their runs, and it was clear that, with two gone, they weren’t enough to keep the stronghold safe.

  “Defenders,” Tristan said, looking around at them all, sweaty and bloody and barely keeping it together. The sound of the battle at the village gate was a strange, dissonant contrast to the bubble of silence that enveloped the stronghold—but also a reminder that this was the calm before the next storm. “We have used every weapon and tactic available to us—except one. Who are we? Some of us are soldiers, craftspeople, or cooks; others are Apprentice Riders or even stablehands.” His golden-brown eyes flicked to Veronyka before he continued. “But those are all unnecessary divisions, small pieces of the whole. We are animages, and wherever we come from, we are united, here, in this place we now call home. We are also united in our abilities. Tonight I asked the phoenixes to fight alongside us—and they rallied together to join our cause. Maybe if we ask the other animals of the stronghold to fight with us, they will do the same.”

  Whispers spread through the courtyard like leaves in a light breeze. Veronyka closed her eyes and cast her awareness wide, lowering her defenses. There. While the people of the stronghold were confused and unsure, the animals heard Tristan’s rallying cry, felt his intention and the rise of his magic—and responded to it.

  “We will not force them,” Tristan said firmly, “but if they choose to help us, we can guide their efforts and ensure they understand the risks. Just as they do in our daily lives, the animals can make us stronger—from phoenixes to messenger pigeons, from warhorses to hounds—no ally is too small, no effort unworthy.”

  Veronyka looked around. Many of the animals were afraid and would rather hide among rafters or in dark, quiet cellars, but others . . . Slowly they emerged, slipping between legs and perching on shoulders or ledges. There was a steady thumping sound coming from the stables, and Veronyka found Wind’s familiar, stubborn mind. He was ready to break down his stall door if someone didn’t come and open it for him soon.

  The bleak feeling that had so recently overtaken the stronghold changed, shifted. . . . It wasn’t exactly hope, but it was something other than despair, and that was a start.

  “If we stand together,” Tristan said, “we can show these empire soldiers what we’re capable of.”

  Tristan’s speech ended with the sharp clang of a new grappling hook scraping against the stronghold’s walls. In an instant, the people and animals of the Eyrie responded. Veronyka hurtled down the nearest stairs, almost tripping over the cats and dogs that weaved between her legs. As she burst through the stable doors, unlatching every stall, pigeons and sparrows and doves filled the air.

  Outside, Veronyka stared as her most recent reckless plan came to fruition. She joined in where she could, sending flocks of birds left and packs of dogs right. She’d expected to have to do more, but the animals were focused and ready to fight.

  Messenger pigeons gouged the eyes of climbing soldiers, while falcons shrieked and dove, beaks tearing and claws scraping flesh.

  Instead of weary villagers with serrated kitchen knives, cats scratched and clawed at the climbing ropes—and at any unwary soldier who managed to crest the wall—and a barrage of dogs and horses barreled into the village through the open postern door.

  Veronyka climbed the wall again just in time to see a soldier try his hand at running through the ruins of the village gate—only to be surprised by the giant bloodhound that leapt through the gap, colliding with him in midair and tackling him to the ground.

  Llamas carried supplies and weapons, while the horses dragged heavy beams and wagons to try to shore up the village gate’s barricade. Veronyka even saw Sparrow hacking at a rope, Chirp perched next to her, biting and tugging at the loose threads.

  Veronyka’s heart filled with triumphant glee. Fighting alongside her animal friends was terrifying, but it felt right. They were natural-born allies, and like Tristan said, they were stronger together. Let the empire think them weak and defenseless without their Phoenix Riders—they would show them exactly how much damage animages could do.

  I thought I lost my sister when a stray arrow pierced her chest, but I’d lost her long before then.

  - CHAPTER 40 -

  VERONYKA

  JUST LIKE THE PHOENIXES, the animal reinforcements worked—for a time. Veronyka’s stomach clenched painfully when she saw the first dog run through with an enemy spear, and her heart lurched each time a messenger pigeon was shot down from the sky. Everywhere she looked, she saw fur and feathers stained with blood, and bodies of all shapes and sizes were strewn across the ground.

  The phoenixes continued to circle and dive, but the death of Xoe had made them hesitant, and even Xephyra had lost some of her aggression.

  It wasn’t going to be enough. They had done everything they could to last, to endure, but their defenders were dying, human and animal alike, and still, no saviors came to rescue them.

  When the newly built barricade at the village gate came crashing down, Veronyka knew they were out of time.

  If the soldiers got into the village, they’d burn and destroy until they reached the stronghold. Its walls were taller and more solidly built than the village, but its gate hadn’t been reinforced, and they didn’t have the numbers to properly defend it.

  If the soldiers got into the village, all was lost.

  They could send more phoenixes to help, but they’d already lost two—neither of which were bonded. How much more devastating would it be if one of the apprentices lost their bondmate? Veronyka knew that if Tristan sent anyone, it would be Rex. He wouldn’t condemn anyone else to that fate. He would shoulder the burden himself.

  Veronyka sought him out and had her worst suspicions confirmed. Already he was signaling Rex, but when the phoenix turned midflight, he didn’t head to the burning village gate to take up the defense. He flew toward Tristan.

  He means to go with his bondmate, she realized, her throat constricting in sudden panic. He means for them to fight—and maybe die—together.

  Veronyka moved slowly through the crowd, as if wading through water. She didn’t know what she would say or if she intended to try to stop him, but she had to get there.

  Tristan spotted her approach, and their eyes met, dead bodies and burning ropes between them. His expression was bleak.

  Then his face contorted in pain, and he clutched at his arm, stumbling to the ground. Veronyka ran, pushing people aside as she fell to her knees next to him, looking for the arrow that had found its mark—only, there wasn’t one. Rex screeched from somewhere above, and Veronyka whirled around: There was the arrow she sought, embedded in the space where Rex’s left wing connected with his body. He dropped, staggering down into the open space of the courtyard below.

  Veronyka helped Tristan to his feet, and he shook off the phantom wound that had pierced his shoulder through the bond. Rex landed awkwardly near the back of the courtyard—probably trying to make it into the Eyrie, but unable to fly that far.

  “Ersken!” Tristan screamed as they rushed to Rex’s side, his voice ragged. Veronyka doubted they were close enough for the man to hear, but then a tiny figure appeared out of nowhere
—Sparrow, doing her part as a runner—hurtling past in a blur as she bolted through the archway into the Eyrie and out of sight.

  Tristan gripped Rex’s flailing head, trying to soothe him, while Veronyka looked at the wound. The arrow shaft had pierced straight through the muscle and sinew of the joint, so that the wing lost all mobility. He would heal more quickly than other animals, but there was no way he could fly right now.

  Ersken ambled through the archway, a heavy satchel in hand.

  He dropped the bag with a clank of bottles and healing instruments and checked the phoenix’s shoulder. Tristan’s eyes were wide and feverish, his hold on Rex tense. Ersken’s movements were deft and quick as he surveyed the damage. Sparrow remained just outside their group, but Ersken called her over and ordered her to retrieve items from his bag. Her hands trembled as they flitted over the bottles and jars, but Chirp was nearby, and she managed to find the items he sought.

  “He’ll be fine, lad,” Ersken said, turning away from Rex to mop the blood from his hands—which smoked and left angry red welts on his fingers. “And there’ll be no lastin’ damage, as far as I can tell. But he can’t be flyin’ any more tonight.”

  Tristan didn’t respond, and try as she might to resist it, Veronyka couldn’t help but feel the dazed numbness that radiated from him. He was lost without his phoenix . . . and so was the gate.

  Xephyra nudged Veronyka’s mind, and she looked up to see her bondmate circling the sky above. Xephyra, with whom she was so recently reunited. Xephyra, who was technically too young to be ridden, but large for her age . . .

  “Tristan,” Veronyka said, stepping closer and turning him slightly, so he couldn’t see as Ersken continued to treat Rex—though she suspected he felt it through the bond. “We don’t have time to linger here. Rex can’t help us, but Xephyra can. We have to get to the gate.”