And Veronyka needed to be a part of it.
But then there was the lockbox. Veronyka had gone to the cabin to bury her past, not unearth it. She’d been ready to turn her back on the questions that plagued her, to do what needed to be done to strengthen herself and block her shadow magic, and now?
Without deciding to do it, Veronyka’s walked into the Eyrie. She found her saddlebags, stored with the others, and carefully withdrew the box.
It had no keyhole or visible opening mechanism. She had memories of seeing this box in her maiora’s hands, remembered the contrast of her pale, wrinkled fingers against its smooth dark surface. After the mob took Ilithya and they’d run for their lives, Val must have returned to their ransacked home in the Narrows for it.
And then she’d returned again to their cabin in the woods. Whatever this lockbox contained, it was obviously important.
Veronyka needed sleep. The next day’s tests would be difficult, and her entire future hung in the balance. But the past was here, literally in her grasp. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she knew she couldn’t wait to check. If she found some answers to the questions that had been plaguing her—or at the very least, learned something of what Val was planning to do—it would give Veronyka some semblance of control. It would make her feel less powerless.
Then she could let go of some of the weight that was holding her down. She could let go of Val, too. Maybe having some answers would make blocking her shadow magic easier. Maybe it would quiet her mind and put her at ease.
And if it was nothing? She could shelve her disappointment and focus on the tests tomorrow.
Veronyka wended her way through the village streets. The metalworker’s forge was still and quiet, the scent of quenched flames and cooling iron lingering on the evening breeze. Heat emanated from the stall as Lars cleaned his tools and prepared to shut down for the day. Veronyka’s heart leapt to see that he hadn’t yet abandoned his shop, and she hurried forward.
When he spotted Veronyka, he paused in untying his apron. “Did I miss an order today?” he asked, assuming she was there on behalf of the Riders. “I thought those harness repairs weren’t needed until the end of the week.”
“No, you didn’t miss anything,” she said, smiling and putting her box onto his long wooden counter. “I was hoping you might have a tool for opening a lockbox?”
His gaze lit on it, and a frown creased his brow. He approached, tossing his apron onto the counter and leaning down for a closer look. Lars was both tall and wide, his hands as big as Veronyka’s head, and the box looked like some child’s trinket as he lifted it for further examination. “Y’know, traditionally, it’s a key that opens a lockbox,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, though his expression turned quizzical as he rotated the box and found no lock. “Who’d you steal this from, then?” he asked.
“It’s not stolen,” she said quickly, though she realized that technically wasn’t true.
“There’s no opening mechanism that I can see, but there are the hinges,” he said, running a thick finger along the metal hardware. “I could pry it open along the seams, but that might damage whatever’s inside.”
Without thinking, Veronyka snatched it back from him, and Lars raised his hands as if to show he hadn’t done any damage—yet. Veronyka was desperate to get inside the box, but damaging the contents would completely defeat the purpose. There had to be another way.
Before she could say anything, Old Ana sidled up to Lars’s stall. She was a plump, kind-looking woman, her graying black hair pinned atop her round face and her brown skin smudged with earth. She smiled warmly at them both before she slammed a pair of gardening shears onto the counter. “It’s happened again, you great brute. I thought I told you I needed my clippers to cut, not to lock up every time I try to use them.”
Lars turned a baleful look at Veronyka as he took the shears, sighing heavily. Veronyka smirked. Ana reminded her of her maiora, brusque and with a sharp tongue, and it always amused her to see the woman barking at a man nearly three times her size.
“And I told you, Sweet Ana, that these shears are no good for thinning out your stubborn rosebushes. You’ll need a handsaw for that.”
“Don’t try to butter me up, Lars. It’s Old Ana to you and everyone else. Either make me a handsaw that fits in my apron or unstick those shears.”
Lars shook his head and smiled, disappearing into the back of his stall for some of his tools.
Old Ana watched him, a wistful smile on her face. “I tell you, Nyka, if I were thirty years younger, that man would be tending more than my shears, if you know what I mean.”
Veronyka pulled a face, and Ana cackled. She was the only person to use the Pyraean diminutive of her name, just as Val had done, but Veronyka didn’t mind. Maybe it was because she associated Ana with her grandmother, or maybe it was because some part of her missed the familiarity of it.
“What’s that you’ve got there? A Pyraean puzzle box?”
Veronyka looked down at the lockbox in her hand. “Puzzle box?” she asked, having never heard the term before.
Ana reached for it, and Veronyka reluctantly handed it over. With surprising deftness, Ana squinted and prodded, her hands—stained with decades of dirt across knuckles and under fingernails—sliding expertly over its dark, shiny surface.
“Aha,” she said, turning it so the front faced Veronyka, with the hinge on the other side. Rather than pulling up at the seam, Ana slid the front panel sideways, and something clicked. Then she opened the lid as easily as one would open a chest.
Veronyka’s eyes bulged, landing on the piles of papers inside. She reached for it, but Ana was already closing and relocking it. She guided Veronyka’s hand along the panel, showing her how she’d done it, and Veronyka nodded her thanks, her heart racing.
“Something valuable in there, I take it?” Ana said, noting Veronyka’s breathless excitement.
“I hope so,” Veronyka answered, clutching the box to her chest before hurrying away.
* * *
With the other apprentices already inside the barracks, Veronyka wandered the stronghold, uncertain, before deciding on the stables as the best place to be alone. Well, to be away from people, at any rate.
Xephyra nudged at her mind, telling her to come to the Eyrie, but even at night there were too many people about. That was where the Master Riders slept, after all, and she didn’t want to chance a run-in with Tristan.
Veronyka’s second favorite animal at the Eyrie, Tristan’s horse, Wind, welcomed her warmly—eventually. At first he was his usual prickly self, having taken her almost three-day absence rather personally. He kept turning away from her, bending his long neck so far he was practically looking behind himself—until she promised him apples for the next three days to make up for it. With a huff and a snort, he suffered her pats and affection, before slipping back into a doze.
Veronyka sank down onto the straw-strewn ground, placing a freshly lit lantern next to her.
This was the very stall Veronyka had hidden in weeks before, only to be found by Tristan—and soon after, the commander. She hoped neither would disturb her now.
With a shaky breath, she slid back the panel the way Ana had shown her and lifted the lid.