But there was so much that remained unanswered, so much that only Val could tell her. A familiar stirring tickled the edges of her awareness, like a brush of wingbeats. Val’s doorway. A part of her was always there in Veronyka’s mind; Veronyka simply had to reach for it.
She clenched her jaw and forced thoughts of Val from her mind before shoring up the stones inside her mental walls. But no matter how sturdy she made them, she didn’t know how to board up a doorway. She’d tried stacking stones around it. She’d tried imagining mud and planks of sturdy wood…. But whatever she did, Veronyka knew the door was there, that there was no way of erasing it entirely. This was doubly hard when trying to block someone who had the gift themselves, someone who was always seeking any crack or sliver of vulnerability. Someone who had a door in her walls made just for them.
“Veronyka?” Tristan said, cutting into her thoughts. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.
“Oh—hi,” she said, so focused on closing off her magic that she hadn’t heard his approach. But just like with Val, Tristan’s door was always there. When she gave him her full attention, uncertainty radiated out from him, an anxious humming through their bond—no matter how hard Veronyka tried to block it. He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, ruffling his soft brown curls. Behind him the others had begun to make camp within the ruins of the outpost.
“We usually sleep together, two per tent,” he began, and Veronyka nodded, having seen the camping supplies before. “Since we’re only five, I usually take the last tent by myself….” He faltered, and Veronyka understood at once. She was now their sixth member, and there was only one available tent to sleep in—his.
Tristan leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I brought an extra tent,” he said, his brow furrowed, “but I know that looks like I’m giving you special treatment. But if we sleep in the tent together”—he cleared his throat—“that looks like special treatment too. I…” He trailed off, looking totally at a loss. It was almost funny—or it would have been, if they hadn’t so recently been discussing this very issue. She was their first female trainee, and she hated how it made her stand out. Even here, on a simple overnight mission, there were issues. Complications. Problems.
Sometimes Veronyka wished she’d just kept up the Nyk facade. At least then she could have fit in with the others in some way, even if it was a lie. Now she was new, a girl, and she was Tristan’s favorite. The idea would have thrilled her endlessly once—and it still did, down deep in her stomach—but it also made her feel isolated.
And the worst part was, proper or not, part of her wanted to sleep in Tristan’s tent. He was her best friend, the person she felt closest to. The idea of sleeping side by side…
Veronyka shook her head. “Thanks, Tristan, but I’ll sleep outside with Xephyra,” she said, nodding at her bondmate, who was currently snuffling her beak along the ground at the edges of the clearing, Rex close by.
“No—I’ll do that,” Tristan said hastily, guilt flickering across his face and through their connection, as if he regretted that he hadn’t thought of it first. Veronyka closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples, pushing his feelings from her mind. She didn’t know if Morra’s advice was truly helping her, but she had to trust it, and to be content with the fact that even if her control over their connection wasn’t getting better, it wasn’t getting worse, either.
She looked up to find Tristan frowning at her, as if confused by her gestures.
Veronyka forced a smile, her chest tight. “Just a bit of a headache,” she murmured, glancing away. “You can’t sleep outside and give me the tent—that’s special treatment, remember? If you usually sleep in a tent, then that’s what you’ll do. Honestly, I don’t mind. It’s summer, and if it gets a bit cold, Xephyra will keep me warm.”
His jaw worked at that comment, and her stomach clenched at the thought that maybe he’d liked the idea of sleeping side by side too—that he wanted to be the one to keep her warm.
“Come on,” she said, avoiding his gaze. “Let’s help set up.”
* * *
They walked into the village first thing the following morning, taking in the empire’s destruction for the first time. Their feet scraped against the gravel as they traversed the quiet streets, so different from the bustling village Veronyka remembered. Villagers huddled in corners or watched them from inside darkened windows, the entire place strangely cold and lifeless.
Veronyka’s insides felt hollow. There were scorch marks everywhere—on the finely painted shutters and the smooth stone walls, on the surrounding trees, and even on the fishing boats moored near the bridge.
And the bridge. It was gone.
It had been a massive wooden archway, stretching across the wide bend of the Aurys, its planks worn smooth after decades of feet and wagon wheels.
Now it was a blackened skeleton, the barest framework remaining on both sides, like hunched old folks reaching in vain across the river’s dark depths.
There was more. All along the riverbank and in seemingly random places across the village were bunches of flowers.
Veronyka understood the meaning at once.
The delicate, pale-white Star Flowers, or stellaflora, were here to commemorate the dead, whose souls would rise into the sky to live among the stars.
Then there were the spiky black Shadow Blooms, more commonly called deathmaidens after the servants of the goddess Nox, who took lost souls to the dark realms. These flowers were meant to protect, to lure the deathmaidens and distract them, allowing the missing loved ones a chance to make it home.
Veronyka swallowed. So many flowers… so many dead and lost.
Next to her, Tristan had gone ashen, the warm olive of his skin almost gray in the early-morning light. All of them wore similar expressions of shock and grief. They hadn’t known it was this bad…. And how could they? Commander Cassian hadn’t sent anyone. Even the numbers that had been reported didn’t match—or maybe they just didn’t convey—what they saw here.
A spark of anger blistered Veronyka’s chest, even as she tried to reason with herself. Rushlea and Petratec had suffered worse damage. They couldn’t be everywhere at once. But they could be more places if they had more Riders. Veronyka might not be perfect, but she was capable, and she shouldn’t be held back just to pass some arbitrary tests. If she’d known it was this bad, she would have asked to fly back and help out herself.
Still, the frustration was there, along with the guilt, a fiery cocktail licking up her throat. Low croons echoed down from the outpost clearing, where the phoenixes remained out of sight but always connected to their bondmates’ emotions.
Heat brushed Veronyka’s skin—Tristan, his hands balled into fists by his sides. Compassion overwhelmed her anger when she realized that no matter whose fault this was, no matter that it was his father’s decision to delay their arrival here, Tristan was the one who would answer for it.
Though she knew it was dangerous, Veronyka reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. She meant only to steady him—she didn’t open herself or reach with her magic, but as she took slow, deep breaths, Tristan’s own heaving chest hitched, then slowed, mirroring hers. Was that shadow magic, or just the comfort of a friend?