Turning back around, Veronyka stood. The girl was a head shorter than Veronyka, dirty and thin, and her cool sand-colored skin was freckled on her cheeks and bare shoulders from too much time in the sun. She’d clearly made her own spear, the shaft a knotted branch that wasn’t quite straight and the obsidian tip fastened with a length of oiled leather rope. Still, it looked sharp.
“Won’t hurt you,” the girl said, smirking in amusement, as if Veronyka were being suspicious and overcautious—and hadn’t just been awoken with that very weapon pressed to her throat. The bird in the girl’s hair twittered, and she nodded, as if reminded of something.
“What’s your name?” the girl asked.
Veronyka hesitated, fearing that the word alone would somehow draw Val down upon her. “Veronyka,” she whispered.
The girl pointed at herself. “Sparrow, and this is Chirp.”
The bird chirped obligingly, and Veronyka knew her suspicion that Sparrow was an animage was true. It wasn’t uncommon for animages to have loyal pets, almost as near and dear to them as Riders and their phoenixes but without the magical bond.
Veronyka held a hand out to her in greeting. The girl continued to stare somewhere slightly off to Veronyka’s left, until the silence caused her to frown. She blinked, tilted her head, then Chirp dislodged himself from her hair and fluttered onto Veronyka’s outstretched arm.
Sparrow’s frown smoothed out, and she took Veronyka’s hand.
She can’t see, Veronyka realized, as Chirp hopped up Veronyka’s arm to land on her shoulder, his black eyes gleaming as he studied her. The sparrow must act as her guide, much in the same way Veronyka used owls and other night creatures to help her see in the darkness.
Tentatively, Veronyka reached out to Chirp. Before she’d more than brushed the bird’s mind, Sparrow gasped in pleasure.
“You’re an animage!” she said, cheeks flushing with delight. Chirp left Veronyka’s shoulder and took up a perch on Sparrow’s instead. They cocked their heads at Veronyka in unison before Sparrow scanned the area around them—not with her eyes, with her magic. “But you’re alone.”
Val had never let Veronyka keep a pet. Even the creatures that helped her every now and again suffered her sister’s scorn and contempt. Only a phoenix was worthy of them, Val would say, and animages who kept cats and dogs by their sides deluded themselves with a pale imitation of what a true bond was.
Veronyka nodded in response to Sparrow’s observation, then, remembering that the girl couldn’t see, added, “Yes, I’m alone.” The words caused Veronyka’s throat to tighten. Barely a day had passed, and she’d lost both a bondmate and a sister. Xephyra’s loss was like a fresh knife wound, raw and stinging, but she refused to feel hurt over Val. Her sister had chosen this schism. She had willingly destroyed the most precious thing in Veronyka’s world, ruthlessly and without remorse. “For now,” she added.
“For now,” Sparrow repeated, nodding, as if Veronyka’s words were the highest wisdom. “Sometimes we have to be alone. But not always. And look, now you’re with me. Not alone no more.”
Veronyka expelled a breath, relieved that the tension of this confrontation had defused. She looked around the clearing again, a frown creasing her forehead. Did Val know this place was in ruins? Had she deliberately sent Veronyka here or lied about where she actually intended to go to make sure Veronyka couldn’t follow?
“Sparrow, I—” Before Veronyka could finish, the girl had her by the arm and was yanking her down behind part of the wall with the water goddess.
Veronyka staggered after her, confused, until faint voices drifted through the trees, followed by the steady roll of a wagon’s wheels.
Her mind immediately went to raiders, then to the soldiers she’d found outside her door. But when Veronyka peered around the edge of the wall, she could see the approaching people through the trees.
There was an older man, past middle age, and a teenage boy, both sitting at the front of a wagon pulled by a pair of sturdy mountain horses. They were dressed simply, like many of the local villagers, in short tunics and cropped pants, though Veronyka spotted knife hilts on both of their belts. It was common enough to carry a weapon while traveling, but the younger of the two had a bow across his back as well. While the older man looked like a local, the boy had coloring similar to Sparrow’s, his light-brown hair shining gold in the sun.
When the older of the two spoke in a low, barely audible rumble, Sparrow visibly relaxed.
“It’s just the steward,” she said, though she made no move to pop up and say hello. That was probably for the best, given the boy’s bow and wary expression. Maybe he was the man’s personal guard?
“Steward for what?” Veronyka asked, still watching their slow progression. As far as she knew, stewards ran households for rich lords and merchants in places like Marble Row, where the empire’s wealthiest lived. Veronyka remembered seeing the stewards and their attendants at the local markets, purchasing all the best food, wine, and finery for their employers. The concept of a manor household filled with staff wasn’t something that had ever taken hold in Pyra—even the wealthiest of Pyraean merchants, farmers, and tradespeople employed only a bare-bones staff: a cook, an animage or animal keeper, and maybe a household attendant to clean and maintain the home.
Sparrow had turned away, leaning her back against the wall as she picked at a bit of twine on her spear. “For that exiled governor’s house. They say he’s an old hermit, walled inside his country estate, and he sends his steward to the villages every month or two. Sometimes they come looking for stablehands or . . .”
Veronyka stopped listening to Sparrow. The steward’s voice was growing louder, and she was shocked to hear the man speaking ancient Pyraean. It hadn’t been an official spoken language in at least a hundred years, slowly phased out in favor of the Trader’s Tongue.
But Veronyka knew it. It was still part of upper-class education, and so her maiora had learned it, thanks to her status as a Phoenix Rider. She had been common born, just like Val and Veronyka, but being a Rider elevated you to the highest echelons of society. Or at least it used to.
It took a moment for Veronyka to understand what they were saying—she hadn’t spoken it much since her grandmother was taken from her.
But there was one word she would never forget—one that Val made sure she always remembered.
Phoenixaeres.
Phoenix Riders.
Veronyka lurched to her feet, seeking out their faces, hoping to better hear their conversation. They continued to speak in Pyraean, but seeing their lips move helped Veronyka puzzle through it.
“. . . enough for everyone, including the underwings. We ran out last month.”
Veronyka’s heart was beating very fast now. Underwings were Apprentice Riders. These travelers were here on behalf of Phoenix Riders.
The lane twisted away before she could hear any more, and they soon passed out of sight.
“He always goes to the Vayle market,” Sparrow said, getting to her feet.
“The market . . . ,” Veronyka muttered, turning on the spot and looking back down the hillside. “Where—”
“Come on, I’ll show you,” Sparrow said, and Chirp agreed, trilling loudly before zipping forward to lead the way.