Seeing Veronyka’s line of sight, she shifted, casting her gaze in the direction of the Eyrie. “You should get back, Veronyka. They’ll be looking for you.”
Veronyka nodded, but she didn’t move. “Where will you go?” She thought about offering to talk to Tristan, to Commander Cassian, or even to Ersken. Her sister could be a valuable asset to any of them, but she knew Val would never accept and that it would be a terrible idea besides.
Though Veronyka took care to guard her mind, Val’s lips quirked into a smile, as if Veronyka were projecting her thoughts for all the world to hear.
“I think I’ll make for the ruins of Aura and the Everlasting Flame,” Val said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. They say the queens of old linger there, whispering their stories for anyone brave enough to hear them.”
A flicker of longing sparked to life inside Veronyka. She realized with sudden finality that even if Val did make it there—the way was notoriously treacherous, the roads and bridges collapsed and crumbled with age, and the very summit reachable only on phoenix-back—and she heard those ancient secrets, Veronyka would never know. She wouldn’t be waiting at home next to the hearth, eager for Val’s return. They would never share their lives that way again.
She hesitated, knowing her sister would scoff at her next words, but she said them anyway. “Be careful.”
Val smiled, the bright morning sun turning her auburn hair to fire. “I’ve been through much, much worse, xe Nyka. One day you’ll understand.”
“I want to understand now,” Veronyka said, taking a step forward. Val was the kind of person who never really let you in. You could talk to her day after day, year after year, spend your entire life together and still not truly know her. If this was going to be the last time Veronyka ever saw her sister, she wanted to find something true about her, something more than just her callous nature and darkly burning heart. “Tell me.”
Val studied her for a long time. “I can’t tell you,” she said with a resolute shake of her head.
Veronyka wilted, the walls between them—magical, physical, and emotional—as impenetrable as always.
But I can show you, Val said.
The world around Veronyka disappeared, the walls she’d just lamented completely obliterated. Suddenly, she was in one of her dreams, the scene playing out before her waking eyes.
She sat at the head of a long wooden table, oil lamps casting pools of light over its surface. Across from her was the same girl who was always at her side in these visions. She was a young woman now, her deep-set eyes shadowed and wary.
Other people filled the room, but dream-Veronyka wasn’t interested in them. She stared intently, fixedly, at the girl, noticing every breath and sigh of movement. She seemed paler than usual and pressed a hand to her stomach as if she might be sick. She kept glancing toward the corner of the room, where a guard stood by the door. Maybe she was nervous and his presence reassured her. Or maybe she wanted to note how far the door was, in case she had to make a run for the chamber pot.
When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a seemingly innocuous gesture—rage boiled in Veronyka’s veins. The girl’s hair was glossy, straight—and unbraided. This was a recent development, Veronyka sensed, and as she took in the surrounding people once more, she noticed a distinct difference between those who clustered around the girl across from her and the ones who stood near Veronyka.
Those around the girl wore the robes of council members, which included a mix of provincial governors and noble lords. Veronyka could make out the golden thread embroidered on their chests, indicating their positions: scales for the Minister of Law or overlapping circles for the Minister of Coin. One or two appeared to be military, their short hair, stiff postures, and colored sashes marking them as ranking soldiers in the army.
The people attending Veronyka in the dream were also important and high ranking—but certainly of a different sort. They were Phoenix Riders every one, wearing armguards and riding leathers, with shining obsidian beads and bright phoenix feathers hanging from their braided hair.
There was barely concealed hostility in the room, and Veronyka couldn’t decide which side was more intimidating: Both had powerful, experienced men and women—and yet the Riders were at their best on phoenix-back, soaring through the open air with bows and spears in their grasp. Here, in a darkened chamber where wax and ink were the weapons of choice, Veronyka couldn’t help but think that the politicians had the true upper hand.
As she compared and contrasted the opposing forces, something in Veronyka’s mind finally clicked. She understood where she was at last, what she had been dreaming of for years: She was in the heart of the empire more than sixteen years ago, in Aura Nova, and these were the princesses that battled for the throne during the Blood War.
If the girl across from her was Pheronia, surrounded by her councilors, then Veronyka was occupying the mind of Avalkyra, attended by her rebel Phoenix Riders.
A heavy silence fell as Veronyka’s dream self twisted a ring on her finger, pressing it into a thick glob of wax on a piece of paper, dark with ink. Her movements were brisk, but Veronyka felt the tremor in her fingers and the hasty, clumsy way she slid the document across the table. The tension in the room reached a crescendo as, with a nod at her advisers, Pheronia tore the sheet of paper in two.
Veronyka’s dream body leapt to its feet, but her own advisers descended upon her before she could speak or react, gripping her arms and steering her from the room. Veronyka glanced over her shoulder for a last look at the girl who was her sister, but bodies pressed in on her, blocking her from view.
Shadowy passages, whispered words, and suddenly Veronyka was in a bedchamber. Her people released her at last, and with a command laced with shadow magic, they fled from her presence.
As soon as the door shut behind them, Veronyka took up a heavy wooden chair and whipped it across the room. It smashed against the wall, shards of wood flying in every direction, but she wasn’t done. She smashed a ceramic jug and tore a silken pillow in half, the plump feathers dancing in the air like snowflakes. Panting, she lurched to a basin of water and splashed handfuls of cool liquid against her hot skin.
This means war, said a voice in her mind—a voice that was not Veronyka’s.
As the pool of water beneath her stilled, she dropped her hands and stared into the reflection of the dark bowl.
Val’s face looked back up at her.
Veronyka reeled back, casting aside the dream world as the true world came to life around her once more. Birds chirped, grass swished in the breeze, and sunlight beat down.
Val stood in front of her, so like the reflection in the dream that she felt she stared at a ghost, not a flesh-and-blood person.
The ghost of Avalkyra Ashfire.
My heart ripped open, my soul bled, and my very being caught fire.
- CHAPTER 42 -
VERONYKA
“VAL!” VERONYKA SHOUTED, AS her sister turned her back and stepped between the trees.
Val, Val, Val.
Veronyka kept repeating the word, out loud and inside her mind, as she chased after her sister. She had the feeling that if she said the word enough times, it would set things right—bring Val back, banish the images from her mind, and give her world equilibrium again.