“We?” Veronyka asked, hope mingling with reluctance inside her chest. She relished the idea of not having to step over that threshold alone, but at the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted Tristan to see the squalor she’d been living in.
“Of course—I mean, if you’ll let me,” he said, slowing his pace as he read the hesitance on her face. “If you’d rather go alone—”
“No,” Veronyka said, deciding on the spot. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Good.” He smiled in relief. “Then we better get some shut-eye. We’ll leave in a few hours.”
* * *
Ronyn was on watch as they quietly saddled and mounted their phoenixes, the sky dark and still as a held breath as it waited for the coming dawn. Tristan explained that they were visiting Veronyka’s house—the whole patrol knew she was from the area—and Ronyn nodded, seated on a fragment of the crumbling stone wall, his phoenix perched beside him.
Like the journey from the Eyrie to Vayle, Veronyka marveled at how, in what seemed a few short wingbeats, they had traveled a distance that she had slogged for hours on foot.
With every pump of Xephyra’s wings, a lead weight settled heavier and heavier in Veronyka’s stomach. Any moment now that domed roof would become visible between the trees. Now that she was nearly there, Veronyka didn’t know if she had the strength to face it all again.
A low croon reverberated through Xephyra’s chest when she spotted the cabin in the distance, and flashes of confusion and painful memories rippled through the bond.
“It’s okay,” Veronyka mumbled, closing her eyes as nausea overtook her.
It’s okay, Xephyra repeated back to her.
Veronyka didn’t know if they were comforting each other or themselves, but the link between them settled somewhat, and she opened her eyes again in time to see them slow their pace and circle around the cabin, descending until both phoenixes came in to land on the soft grass that filled the clearing.
Veronyka forced slow breaths through her lips, her insides quivering uncomfortably. She didn’t know how long she sat there, steeling herself, but it was Tristan’s voice that drew her back from the brink.
“Veronyka?” he said softly. He was standing next to Xephyra, a hand outstretched. Veronyka knew he wasn’t aware of their link, but she suspected some sense of her feelings reached him, even if he thought he was only guessing at her emotions.
She pushed out one last huff of breath, then clenched her fists. It was just a building—dark, quiet, and deserted. She could do this. She needed to do this.
Veronyka reached down and took Tristan’s hand; his expression cleared as he helped her from the saddle before giving Xephyra an affectionate pat along her neck. She still seemed agitated to Veronyka—though she leaned into Tristan’s touch—and even Rex was restless, jostling his wings and craning his neck to dart glances into every part of the clearing.
Veronyka swallowed—was this more of their tangled shadow magic web? Her emotions bleeding into Tristan and then into Rex? Or could Rex sense Xephyra’s disquiet in some sort of phoenix instinct?
“Stay out of trouble, you two,” Tristan said to them both, and they began picking their way through the tall grasses, ferreting for acorns or fruit that had fallen from the nearby trees.
Tristan stood next to Veronyka, who hadn’t moved from where she’d dismounted, several yards away from the side of the house. It looked the same—utterly unchanged—yet she knew in her heart that it was abandoned. The stack of firewood that leaned against the back wall was depleted, the plants that grew in front of the door were tall and untrampled, and no smoke or hint of ash touched the air around them.
She tugged at her bracelet, running her fingers over familiar beads and the cool, smooth weight of the ring.
“Are you ready?” Tristan whispered, hand dropping to the knife at his belt as he headed toward the door.
“Wait,” Veronyka said, gripping his arm and holding him back. She unhooked her own dagger—Sev’s, stolen by Val in this very clearing—and gripped it tightly, stepping around Tristan to open the door herself. “Let me.”
Tristan nodded and looked to her, waiting.
Veronyka straightened her spine and turned the handle.
The door creaked on its hinges, retreating into the darkness and leaving a slice of moonlight in its wake. Veronyka held her breath as she crossed over the threshold, and she felt Xephyra with her, tense and uncertain. The house was surprisingly cold, as if the empty, ashen hearth in the center of the room sucked heat away instead of emanating it, as most fireplaces should. It was like a gaping void of nothing and everything. This was where Veronyka’s life had changed forever.
The cabin looked smaller now than it had before, as if the lives that filled it had expanded the very architecture, their hearts becoming its heart, their bodies creating space rather than using it up.
Veronyka wandered in, trailing a finger along the wall as she took in every detail: their broken cooking pot was still here, along with some moldering food supplies. Bits of rice were scattered under the window where, without the wooden shutters, forest creatures had wandered in to scavenge what little they could. Old footsteps—human and animal—dotted the dirt floor, and the walls were caked with soot and grime, the scent bitter on the air.
A snap and hiss drew her attention to the doorway, where Tristan held a lit lantern aloft. She didn’t know when he’d retrieved it, but he strode into the room—his broad shoulders making the place look, if possible, even tinier—and brought clear, golden light with him. Their shadows danced and flickered across the walls.
“It’s even worse than I remember,” Veronyka said, her voice hoarse. “Though I guess some of that is my fault. I burned the shutters myself, though they were broken to begin with. It was a pretty lousy home.”
Tristan put the lantern onto the edge of the hearthstones, then came to stand in front of her. He put his large hands on her shoulders, turning her slightly to face him. “Home isn’t a building,” he said as soon as their eyes met. “Home is…” He cast about as if searching for words. “It’s like a bond. It’s a place you feel safe; it’s the people who make it that way.”
Veronyka nodded, unwelcome tears pricking the back of her eyes. She’d had the same sort of thoughts about bonds, about how they gave her something like family. The places had changed, but Veronyka had felt at home in her life when she was with her family, which had included her maiora; her bondmate, Xephyra—and even her once-sister, Val.
And she felt at home with Tristan, too.
None of them were truly related to her, but they were all still family.
She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. Tristan watched her do it, his gaze catching and snagging on her every movement. He hesitated, his hands shifting slightly on her shoulders, and Veronyka didn’t know if he intended to drop them or raise them up to her face.
Before he could do either, distant voices cut through the silence. They both flinched, pulling away from each other.
Tristan tilted his head toward the open door, while Veronyka reached with her magic for the phoenixes in the clearing outside. The voices were too far to be easily distinguished, but they seemed to be getting louder, which meant they were getting closer. It wasn’t dawn yet, but the darkness around them was growing lighter, hazier, as if the sun weren’t too far off.