and you would be charged not with the murder of a queen regent, but with the murder of a lowly consort. You would walk away after paying the funeral fee.
And yes, annulling my mother’s marriage would also make me illegitimate, and therefore solidify your claim to the throne.
But things have changed, and I must think of the future.
These past months of silence have been hard for me, dear sister; I was not ready to give you forgiveness. I was not ready to understand. But we are out of time.
I must speak to you again, in private. I am sorry that I did not reply to your other letters. . . . I hope I am not too late in replying now.
Yours, Pheronia
Sometimes to protect those you love, you have to hurt them.
- CHAPTER 37 -
VERONYKA
VERONYKA FELL TO HER knees, clutching at the shreds of her tunic. The world around her closed in, and everything went black-and-white. There was no sound, no burning beacon or battle preparations. It was just her and Tristan and the girl who used to be her sister.
It took an eternity to meet his eyes. She wanted to cower, to hide away from him, but something had changed within her. Newfound bravery, coupled with a recent magical awakening, had her seeking out the door that belonged to him—the one she’d somehow created by accident, the one that was there and waiting, making it easy to connect with him.
Veronyka swung it wide, opening herself to him, inviting his wrath like a sunflower chasing the blazing heat of the sun. She wanted to hurt, wanted the pain that he, surely, must be feeling as well. She wanted to drink it in, to ache with it, to tear the wound wide open.
Only, it wasn’t there.
There was nothing there. No anger, no betrayal—just stunned, empty silence.
While his emotions were oddly numb, his mind buzzed with activity, rehashing every conversation, every strange moment or word out of place.
Apparently there had been a lot of them. The bathhouse and the breeding cage. The way she’d calmed Xephyra and when Val called her “Nyka.” Tristan was no fool, and while he hadn’t put all the pieces together, he’d been collecting them one by one, stashing them away for later examination. The hardest thing for Veronyka to deal with was the way he looked at her in those memories . . . like she was someone special and interesting and deserving of his attention. Would he feel the same now, with lies tainting every word and special moment?
Several breaths passed, and the air between them grew thick with anticipation.
He turned, as if meaning to walk away, but stopped himself. He wavered, then looked back at Veronyka once more. She couldn’t read his expression, and before she could begin to unravel his thoughts, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and turned resolutely back to the stairs.
With the sound of his retreating footsteps, the world came alive once more: the commotion of the courtyard above, the shifting of feathers in the enclosure behind her, the smell of burning fires and oil lamps. Even the colors had returned, drenching the ground beneath her in fire-red and ash-gray.
It was as if nothing had changed. And everything.
“Come on,” said Val, resting a hand on Veronyka’s shoulder. Her voice was gentle but firm. “Let’s get out of here, back to my room. You can get changed, and I’ll take care of everything. I’ll free Xephyra, and you’ll never have to worry about the breeding cages again. You’ll never have to hide who and what you are. We’ll get out of here before the fighting starts and make our way to safety. Together.”
The words washed over Veronyka. They were soothing, the kind of words a mother spoke to a daughter, a leader to their troops: confident assurances that everything would be okay.
Empty words, really.
Val would take care of everything. Veronyka knew that, and there was a tiny part of her that was tempted to give in to her sister’s promises. But the relief that decision would bring would be temporary. Val was a warrior, and peace suited her for only so long. She didn’t want to build a shelter from the storm; she wanted to break the very winds that would dare to shake her.
And Veronyka was tired of fighting a battle she knew she’d never win.
“No, Val,” she said. She was still on her knees, staring at the ground beneath her, dark hair hanging in her eyes.