Veronyka rubbed her arms, trying to banish the chill night air.
“Have they kicked you out, then?” Val asked, a determinedly light note to her voice—as if it was of no importance to her at all.
“No, they didn’t. I’m . . .” The hollowness in Veronyka’s chest was spreading, clawing its way up her throat and making it difficult to speak, to breathe. “They’re putting her in the breeding enclosure. And I’m to work there as well.”
Saying the words out loud was like a slap across the face, and the gravity of what was happening finally caught up with her.
A breath escaped Val’s lips, as if she’d been hit in the stomach. “Do they know that you’re bonded?”
Veronyka shook her head. She was oddly grateful for Val’s shock, relieved to have someone on her side—but she dismissed the idea at once. Val was only ever on her own side.
“They think I have a gift with calming animals. I did the same thing with a horse once, and . . . they want to keep Xephyra in a cage, force her to mate, and . . .”
Her throat hitched, tightening painfully until she couldn’t speak at all. Against the cold numbness of her body, hot tears spilled down her cheeks.
“You cannot stand for this,” Val said, taking a step toward her. “You must free her.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Veronyka demanded.
“Xe Nyka,” Val said softly, reaching for her, but Veronyka dodged her touch.
“This is all your fault,” she snarled, before running to the servant barracks, leaving her sister standing there, her arm outstretched.
That night Veronyka dreamed for the first time in weeks.
She sat in a crowded, smoky room, at the foot of a large wooden bed.
She held a hand in hers and was unsurprised to find that it belonged to the same dark-haired girl as in her last dream. She seemed older now, in the early years of her womanhood, and their hands fit perfectly. Together they bent their heads in somber silence.
There was a man in the bed, apparently unconscious, buried in fine blankets and propped on embroidered pillows. His skin had a sallow tinge, and his brow was dotted with sweat.
He was dying.
In her dream Veronyka knew this, even without recognizing the black-robed priests of Nox or noticing the veiled mourners in the background. Incense burners filled the room, choking the air with their bittersweet smoke.
Dream-Veronyka had fond feelings for the dying man, but she loathed the woman who stood next to him with a hatred that made her stomach churn.
Dozens of others stood vigil in the room. Men and women, all dressed in the finery of the wealthy Golden Empire elite. One of the courtiers caught Veronyka’s attention, and the recognition she felt was almost enough to jolt her from the dream.
Tristan.
No, that couldn’t be right. This man was older than Tristan, but he had the same eyes, the same strong nose and stiff posture. Something in her mind clunked into place, and she knew this was Cassian she looked at. A much younger Cassian, but the distinctive widow’s-peak hairline was evident, along with the indents that would become dimples on either side of his mouth when he smiled.
What she was seeing . . . it must be the past, then—but whose past? She looked at the girl next to her again. There was something familiar about her, but of course, Veronyka had been visiting this girl in her dreams for years.
A low rush of murmurs drew her attention. A stillness had come over the dying man, and a healer moved forward, checking his hands and neck before shaking her head and drawing the blanket up over his face.
The hated woman let out a wail, but it was nothing to the fierce chasm that had opened inside Veronyka. She clutched at the hand she still held as all around the room, the richest and wealthiest people in the empire turned in her direction and bowed. . . .
Veronyka awoke in the dark. She was more tired than when she’d fallen asleep, and her eyes were dry and puffy. The dream had been strange, but what had come before it had been stranger; Azurec’s Day had delivered Veronyka the pieces of her old life again, except they didn’t fit back together as they once had.
Xephyra’s arrival had helped clarify things, putting Veronyka’s position into perspective. Her bondmate did not belong in a cage, and if that meant Xephyra didn’t belong here, with the others, then neither did Veronyka.
It made her ache to think of leaving Tristan behind, of what they might have become together if things were different.
But as she’d said to Val: If things were different, she’d be a Phoenix Rider.
Veronyka slipped out of the barracks before sunrise. She doubted Tristan would come by for their predawn run, but she wanted to avoid it in case he did. There was no point in pretending or getting her hopes up, and she wasn’t ready to see him just yet.
The stars were still out, her only companions as she made her solitary way through the stronghold. She had several hours until she had to report at the Eyrie, and she sensed Xephyra sleeping comfortably through the bond. Her time was her own.
She started in the grassy field in front of the village, where the remnants of the previous day’s celebrations still remained. The obstacle course was gone, but after so many nights spent going through the exercise, Veronyka could still see it in her mind’s eye. This was where everything had changed for her, and it was where she felt most at home at the Eyrie.
Though the sky was growing paler to the east, Veronyka could pretend this was any other night, that Tristan was by her side, and everything was as it had been. But in that scenario, Xephyra was dead. So instead Veronyka imagined a new reality, one where she and Tristan did the obstacle course together, Rex and Xephyra by their sides.
Her heart lifted, and she let the vision dissipate.
Next Veronyka wended her way through the village. She spotted Old Ana hunched over her summer squash, tugging up weeds, and Lars, the metalsmith, waved as he started the fires for his day’s work.
The stables were dark and quiet, the calming rustle of sleeping animals the only sound to punctuate the silence. Veronyka soaked it in, running her hands along horse flanks and murmuring soothing words as she passed. She poked her head into the fenced area where the dogs slept and received several sleepy tail wags in response.
The dining hall was mostly empty, so Veronyka took her time over a warm meal of oats and honey. Morra was busy getting started on the baking for the day, though she paused long enough to give Veronyka a wink and to slip an apple into her hand as she passed.
Veronyka forced her muscles to smile and kept her mind guarded as tightly as she could as she said her silent goodbyes.
At first light Veronyka reported to the Eyrie for duty, just as the commander had instructed.
She was eager to see her bondmate. Maybe once she did, she’d have the strength to do what needed to be done.
The man who tended the female phoenixes was a local animage named Ersken. He and Beryk had grown up together in Petratec, and he was an expert at breeding hunting falcons, which was why the commander had enlisted him—with Beryk’s help.
It was clear, however, that Ersken was out of his league in trying to breed phoenixes. He was grave but honest, telling her that most of his chores involved feeding the birds and cleaning the enclosure. They also needed to be exercised daily, preferably when the other phoenixes were out flying. The so-called breeding happened only once a month, for a week, and with virtually no success—unless you counted the single egg that was probably fertilized outside the enclosure anyway.