“I can’t!” Veronyka cried out, losing her faith that Val would never do anything to hurt her. “Please, Val—I can’t. I—”
“Order her!” Val yelled.
The words weren’t just words—they were power. Val had used shadow magic on her, the magic she’d never turned on her sister before. For a moment Veronyka thought her body might bend to Val’s will. But the next thing she knew, she was on her knees, reaching, sobbing, tears streaming down her face.
Val straightened up, no longer trying to lure the phoenix toward her. She sighed, her dark eyes filled with disappointment. She tossed the knife onto the cutting stone and dropped the date onto the ground at her feet. Xephyra leapt the last few paces between them and began pecking at it eagerly.
Relief flooded Veronyka’s chest, loosening the tight knot twisted there.
“Val—” she began, but she was interrupted by a retching, spluttering sound. A second later panic seared through the bond, intruding upon her thoughts.
She knocked the cutting stone aside and leapt for Xephyra, but Val got there first, slamming into Veronyka and pushing her backward. Xephyra gagged, opening and closing her beak as she tried to bring up the date. Her feelings were so wild and insistent that Veronyka couldn’t tell which thoughts were hers and which belonged to the phoenix. As Veronyka struggled against Val, sorting through her clouded mind, she finally made sense of what was happening. Xephyra wasn’t choking on the date; it wasn’t lodged in her throat, obstructing her airway. She’d already swallowed it. So why was she struggling to breathe?
“You poisoned her,” Veronyka gasped, unable to believe it even as she knew it must be true. She stared wide-eyed at Val—the person who’d helped raise her, Veronyka’s sister and protector and friend.
“Xe Nyka,” she said, using the Pyraean nickname for “Veronyka.” Val’s voice was sweeter in Pyraean, the long e sound of Nyka softer, gentler—almost soothing. But if it wasn’t a denial Val intended to speak, Veronyka didn’t want to hear it. She shoved her sister, hard, and Val toppled backward into the cabin wall.
Veronyka didn’t hesitate, but flung herself onto the ground next to her bondmate. Xephyra’s bulging eyes met hers, but they couldn’t focus. Pain gnawed at Xephyra’s stomach, pulsing through the bond, while her thoughts, her emotions . . . they were ebbing away, like water through cupped hands.
Veronyka reached out for her, mentally and physically, but then Val was there again, dragging her backward. Veronyka fought her—more savagely than ever before, more than she’d fought even for her maiora—but Val’s grip was unrelenting. Veronyka could do no more than watch in horror as, with a stagger and one last chirrup, Xephyra fell to the ground, unmoving.
Veronyka’s mind went silent.
Their bond, their connection—just like that, it was gone.
Phoenixes are the reason magic exists. Azurec’s flaming warriors of light needed to be able to communicate with humankind, and vice versa, and so Nefyra and the First Riders were gifted with animal magic.
Because the First Riders were Pyraean, some people believe that the people of Pyra are the source of magic and that all magic in the valley was brought with them when Elysia made her conquest. But, of course, Elysia didn’t come alone—she came with phoenixes.
Therefore, Azurec is the source of magic, and phoenixes are its bearers, spreading magic across the land and bringing it to life where it lay dormant in humans all over the valley.
Of course, if phoenixes were ever to disappear from the empire, magic would soon follow.
—“Origins of Magic,” from Solstice Day Sermons by Friya, High Priestess of Azurec, published 111 AE
There was rot inside the empire, taking root in secret, unchecked places. I knew I could not unplant the seeds, but I could raze the crop to the ground.
- CHAPTER 7 -
SEV
SEV RETURNED TO THE campsite in a stupor.
He kept seeing the girl and her phoenix, kept feeling the phantom press of cold steel against his throat. Sev rubbed the wound, the cut a superficial, stinging reminder of how close he’d been to death.
But it wasn’t the brush with death that had him rattled—he’d been there many times before.
No, it was that gods-cursed phoenix.
What was he supposed to do now? Sev had known he wasn’t cut out for life as a soldier, but now he knew it beyond any shadow of a doubt. He couldn’t stomach the thought that they might run into more like her and that things might turn out very differently. He had been lucky today—both he and the girl had—but next time he might not be.
Next time Sev might find himself with an innocent animage’s blood on his hands.
He had to find a way out of this mess.
When he rejoined Jotham and Ott, he kept his distance, not wanting to draw notice to himself or the fresh cut on his throat. It was growing dark by the time they passed the perimeter guard, and soon a low rumble of conversation, followed by shadowy figures moving through the trees, told him they’d arrived at camp. They’d set up in a thick copse of trees, and though the darkness was growing deeper with every step, there wasn’t a single torch or fire to light the way. Secrecy was paramount, and any fires after nightfall were prohibited.
The soldiers tended to their weapons and set up their tents and bedrolls, while the bondservants fed the newly arrived pack animals and cared for the messenger pigeons. The cooks and attendants were already preparing the evening meal, slicing up cured meats and slathering honey on cold barley cakes. Just the sight of the hard, round disks made Sev want to gag. He’d been starving most of his life, but even he struggled with the bland, starchy food, a staple in the empire’s military diet.
Better barley than black stew, he thought. It was a common saying among the soldiers he’d met who had, like him, gotten their start in the poorest parts of the empire, lining up for hours in the Narrows or the Forgotten District for a ladleful of the dark sludge-like gruel served by the acolytes of Miseriya—goddess of the poor and hopeless.
Up ahead Ott’s angry voice floated above the sounds of the camp. “What d’you mean the captain’s gone?” he demanded. “What’d we rush back for, then?”
“You rushed back because your captain ordered you to,” came the curt reply.
It was Officer Yara, Captain Belden’s second-in-command. She was a veteran of the Blood War, her face and hands pocked with scars and burn marks. She was one of the few women in their party, a relic from the time before the war, when female enrollment in the military was encouraged. It was Phoenix Rider tradition for both men and women to fight, but after the Riders defected and betrayed the empire, the governors did everything they could to erase their influence—from destroying statues and banning songs to changing laws and customs. As far as Sev knew, women were still allowed to join the army, but it wasn’t common practice.
Officer Yara was also Pyraean, but she was no animage, and so had remained loyal to the empire. She had earned her position during the war and fought hard for the respect of her peers. She was strict and no-nonsense, overseeing the daily operations of their company with a firm hand.
“He has gone on an urgent errand,” she continued, “and you will report to me in his stead.”