shocking enough—not to mention his dire message and Elliot’s betrayal—but nothing thus far had surprised her more than his last two words.
Veronyka thought her heart might have actually stopped.
Ilithya Shadowheart.
It was her maiora’s name. Well, the first half, anyway. When Veronyka was a child, Ilithya was too difficult to say, so she had simply used “grandmother” or “maiora.” Veronyka had never heard her called Shadowheart before, but something about it made a prickling awareness shoot through her.
And she wasn’t the only one to react so strongly.
“How do you know that name?” Morra demanded.
Veronyka stared between the two of them, breathless in anticipation.
“She was a bondservant with the soldiers’ party—working against them from the start. She tried to poison them all . . . to stop the attack, but . . .” He halted, panting, and Veronyka saw more than physical pain on his face. Nothing he had said confirmed this was the same Ilithya she’d been raised by, but nothing had contradicted it either. “I came instead to warn you and to deliver these.” He twitched his good arm, and the bag slid from his shoulder. He opened the flap, revealing that it was packed full of smooth gray stones.
Veronyka inhaled sharply at the familiar sight. It couldn’t be . . .
“Miseriya’s mercy,” Morra muttered under her breath, leaning closer. She turned to Tristan. “Are those . . . ?”
Tristan reached for the bag, hastily examining the contents before closing it again. He didn’t say a word, but his entire body crackled with suppressed energy. The crowd pushed in, but most hadn’t seen what was in Sev’s satchel—and it was plain that Tristan meant to keep it that way. Now was not the time to lose focus. If what the boy said was true, they had a small army coming for them.
Still, a bag full of phoenix eggs—a dozen by Veronyka’s count—was hard to ignore in a place like this.
Her arms tingled with something as bright and glittering as the sun on the River Aurys.
It felt like possibility. It felt like hope for the future . . . if they could survive the night.
Morra turned back to Sev. “Why would Ilithya choose you and not a fellow animage?”
“I am an animage.”
“An animage soldier?” she repeated skeptically, and Veronyka knew she was probing in his mind, using her shadow magic to discern if his words were true or false. She soon nodded, expression apologetic.
“Where is she now?” Morra pressed. “Ilithya?”
Sev opened his mouth to speak before swallowing thickly and shaking his head.
Morra swayed slightly, eyes glazed over—as if she was seeing something the others could not. Something from the soldier’s mind.
“Is she dead?” Veronyka whispered, looking between them. She itched to use her own shadow magic but knew she couldn’t risk it.
Sev nodded, and all the air left Veronyka’s lungs. If it was truly her maiora Ilithya, and she’d been alive all this time . . .
Veronyka thought back to the day Val had told her their grandmother was dead. Veronyka had figured Val had seen it, heard it—knew it—in the way she knew all manner of things Veronyka did not, and like a fool, she had taken her sister’s word as truth. Veronyka should have known better, even then, and was frustrated with herself as much as with Val. She scanned the surrounding faces for her sister, wanting to speak with her that instant, but she was nowhere to be found.
Morra straightened, blinking as she came back to herself. “Everything he says is the truth.”
A ripple of reaction spread through the crowd, as those at the front whispered what she’d said to those behind, while still more questions and concerns bounced back again.
“But how could a number so great move this far up Pyrmont unseen?” one of the guards asked, looking around the group. “A smoke signal should’ve been lit weeks ago, when they first started their climb.”
“They’d know better than to travel the main routes,” said a villager, while others nodded or murmured their agreement.
“Elliot’s information likely helped them avoid our scouts,” added Ronyn, his voice somber.
“They also traveled separately,” Morra said, echoing what Sev had said earlier. “That helped them draw less notice and placed them in strategic positions across the mountain. The closest regiment made camp in the Vesperaean Caves. They’re no more than half a day’s walk from the Field of Feathers, which means they could be here before nightfall.”
“Apprentice Tristan,” interrupted one of the guards, pushing through to the front of the group, Captain Flynn