It had been about two months since she’d been poisoned, and their weeks apart had put a bit of a communication barrier between them, as if Xephyra’s development had been stunted without constant contact with her bondmate.
Finished with the water, Ersken straightened up, and Veronyka stepped back from the bars. He explained that they always exercised after eating in the morning, and that he used the food to lure the phoenixes close and distract them so they could be fitted with cuffs linked to coils of chain. This allowed them to fly but not escape. They were fed well, at least. The bowls of dried fruit and nut porridge looked very much like the breakfast they’d served in the dining hall that morning, flavored with a heavy dose of honey. Phoenixes could survive on almost anything, but they tended to prefer sweeter fare.
Veronyka watched uneasily as Ersken placed the leashes on their legs. Like the metallic net that had ensnared Xephyra, these cuffs were treated with flame-resistant resin made from the sap of the pyraflora—the Fire Blossom tree—which protected against the intense heat of phoenix fire. The petals of the Fire Blossoms, sometimes called Phoenix Flowers for their fiery red color, could also be made into a vicious poison. Veronyka wondered if that was the same poison Val had used on Xephyra. Surely it was the most readily available in the wilds of Pyrmont.
There was an old Pyraean song her maiora used to sing about the pyraflora tree, and though Veronyka couldn’t remember every word, fragments of it ran through her head as Ersken uncoiled the chains.
. . . feathers red and petals dead, ash and bone make up its bed,
fire bright as blood soon bled, ever will you rest your head . . .
When the metal cuff slid onto Xephyra’s leg and clanged shut, she reared back in confusion and alarm, the chain rattling loudly against the bars. Veronyka tried to soothe her, while fighting to keep her own emotions in check. Tears stung at the back of her eyes, and rage simmered in her stomach.
“It always takes a bit of gettin’ used to,” Ersken said, seeing the pain in Veronyka’s face as she swiped at her cheeks. “For them an’ you.”
Veronyka nodded, though she couldn’t keep her eyes off Xephyra. She might be well cared for, safe and unharmed, but this was no life for a phoenix. The sight caused a crackle of clarity to shoot through her mind.
Veronyka had two choices: tell them the truth and suffer the consequences, or flee with Xephyra in secret. She couldn’t decide which option was scarier. It seemed that running away would be easier now—and certainly less daunting than facing Tristan, Morra, and the commander and admitting that she’d lied to their faces repeatedly—but what would happen to them in the long run? Where would they go?
But if she told them now, they might decide that, after proving herself to be an untrustworthy liar, they would be better off without her. They might force her away—or worse, lock her up as some kind of criminal, the way they’d tried to do when she first arrived. And what would happen to Xephyra then? Why not avoid the hurt and disappointment on Tristan’s face—and the danger to herself and Xephyra—and just sneak out of here in the middle of the night?
Of course, while telling everyone the truth presented the possibility of leaving the Eyrie, ashamed and alone, running away now guaranteed it. Veronyka didn’t think she could handle the smug look on Val’s face if they rejected her after she revealed the truth of who she was, but slinking away like a coward felt wrong. It might save her the judgment of the people she’d come to care about, but would it save her judgment from herself? The fact that it was most certainly what Val would do made Veronyka want to do it even less. If she ran away, wouldn’t she and Xephyra just wind up with Val again, settling back into their old pattern?
There was also the matter of the other female phoenixes to think about. If Veronyka found a way to release Xephyra, surely she’d have to release the others as well. She owed it to them, and yet . . . would she be dooming the Phoenix Riders forever? Dooming Tristan?
Once Ersken finished with Xephyra, he fitted the other two phoenixes with cuffs, introducing them as he worked. “This sweet lady is called Xolanthe, though I call her Xoe,