Most all of the Ashfires had been Phoenix Riders, and Xephyra stirred with interest in the back of Veronyka’s mind as she pored over lists of bonded pairs or famous phoenixes.
Xephyra, her phoenix said through the bond, a question or a promise, maybe, that her name would one day be among these legends.
Xephyra, bondmate of Veronyka, Veronyka replied. After Xephyra’s surge of satisfaction, the link between them quieted again.
While most Riders outshone their mounts in terms of fame and notoriety, there were some phoenixes that stood out and gained reputations of their own, or pairs that were always listed together. Cirix, the first male phoenix, was particularly well known because he’d been resurrected no less than five times, bonding with various descendants of his first bondmate, Callysta, over a period of two hundred years. Nefyra and Ignix were the first-ever Phoenix Riders and so were often named together, and Ignix had been a mated pair with Cirix throughout his many lives. Queen Genya’s mount, Exiline, was famously large, her wingspan measuring nearly eight meters wide. It earned her the nickname General’s Shadow, for the wide swath of darkness that slid over the ground, marking her passing in the sky.
Though these tales were her favorites, Veronyka put the familiar volume aside. For the first time since she’d begun lessons, she sought books and scrolls on a different subject matter: shadow magic. She knew it wasn’t a recognized magical discipline, and the odds of finding anything on it in Cassian’s library were extremely low, but she had to try. After the events of the previous day’s combat lessons, Veronyka was more determined than ever to get it under control.
In truth, she wanted nothing more than to tell Tristan about it—to spew all her fears and worries and bring down the last of the barriers between them. But those barriers… they were her last scraps of self-preservation. She didn’t know how to explain the way the magic scared her, the way Val wielded it with such precision… the way it made her feel vulnerable and unsafe in her own mind. And then there was Val, too—her true identity something else she hadn’t yet told him. But wouldn’t opening up to him make the bond between them stronger? Or would telling him help Veronyka get their link under control?
Veronyka spent the entire lesson and half of her lunch break shifting through all the books she could find on magic, to no avail. She had better luck with the volumes of myths and legends, reading between the lines about witches using mysterious spells or ancient queens who controlled their subjects with unknown magical powers. Still, none of it helped Veronyka. There were no “how to” chapters, no practical information or advice.
But as she hastily reshelved the books before afternoon lessons, hoping to sneak into the dining hall for a quick lunch, Veronyka realized that there was someone besides Val she could ask about shadow magic: Morra, the stronghold’s cook, who was a veteran Phoenix Rider from the Blood War—and a shadowmage herself.
Veronyka would have to reveal her own shadow magic in the process, but she knew in her heart that Morra wouldn’t shun or shame her. Maybe she could give Veronyka some basic information and guidance.
Maybe she could teach her to stop being scared of her own magic.
* * *
Veronyka didn’t get a chance to speak to Morra in private until after dinner.
She walked through the empty dining hall, the benches placed atop the long wooden tables so that the floor could be swept, while the fireplaces that ran along the far wall burned low.
On the other side, Morra was alone in the kitchens, hunched over the counter as she finished whatever prep needed doing before the morning. The fireplaces separated the cooking area from the dining hall, casting her work space into flickering orange and yellow light.
Hearing Veronyka’s hesitant footsteps, she turned.
Veronyka didn’t say anything, just sank onto a stool, trying to figure out how to broach the topic. Morra set aside the bowls of dough she was preparing for the morning baking and surveyed Veronyka, who was twisting her hands together nervously.
“I think I could use something to warm me up. What about you?” Morra asked, glancing over her shoulder as she opened a container and dropped leaves into a teapot. She didn’t wait for Veronyka to answer, instead filling the pot from the still-hot kettle over the hearth and placing the steaming, fragrant pot before them. Thankfully it wasn’t Morra’s infamous pungent healing tea, but instead something that smelled sweet and floral. Morra filled their cups and leaned her crutch against the wall before easing into a seat beside Veronyka. They drank in silence for several moments.
“Morra… you’re a shadowmage, aren’t you?” Veronyka asked, abandoning pretense.
Morra glanced over her shoulder, but the place was deserted. Obviously people knew Morra was Commander Cassian’s top choice for interrogations, but Veronyka doubted many of them understood her gift or what it was called. As Veronyka’s recent research attested, it had historically been treated with a lot of fear and superstition, or ignored altogether, no matter that Nefyra herself had supposedly been a shadowmage.
“And if I am?” Morra asked carefully.
“The thing is… I am too.”
Veronyka braced herself for anger, but Morra wore a grim, resigned expression. There was a whisper of magic against Veronyka’s mental barriers, but no push or intrusion. It was more questing, confirming… like an acknowledgment rather than an invasion. “I thought you might be. I wasn’t sure if you knew you were, though. There’s many that don’t. I sure didn’t, when I first started hearing other people’s minds as a child. Thought I was losing my mind instead.” She smiled cajolingly, and Veronyka nodded, surprised by the tears filling her eyes. Veronyka had known, thanks to Val, but the magic had never brought her anything but trouble.
Well, that wasn’t true. Though it was fraught and dangerous, her link to Tristan had brought her a connection to another person more powerful than anything she’d experienced before. And now that she had no sister or grandmother… that bond was more than just a complication. It was like what she had with Xephyra.
It was like family.
“Hey, now, it’s all right, young one. It’s all right,” Morra murmured, pulling Veronyka into a hug. She smelled of cinnamon and fresh-baked dough, and Veronyka wanted to sink into her and disappear. “It’s a hard gift, there’s no mistaking it. And people often don’t understand. You were wise to keep it to yourself.”
Veronyka pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “What do you mean?”
Morra paused. “Well… besides the fact that many are suspicious of it,” she began thoughtfully, “it’s made more powerful by familiarity.” Icy dread slipped down Veronyka’s spine. She knew this, but hearing it confirmed was worse somehow. “It’s harder to control with the people you’re closest to,” Morra conceded, speaking slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. “It’s the same as animal magic in that regard. But if the people around you know you have it—it will be worse still.”
“What? How?” Veronyka asked desperately.
Morra sighed heavily, fiddling idly with her teacup on the table before her. “Do you remember when you first discovered you were an animage? Not when you were little, using your magic unconsciously. I mean when you knew you had magic and how it worked.”