the fletching on her arrow. She’d managed to steal a bow and full quiver, a shoulder pack—likely filled with stolen supplies—and a smaller, cross-body satchel. Whatever it held, it was heavy, straining against the fabric and digging into Val’s flesh.
Seeing Veronyka’s line of sight, she shifted, casting her gaze in the direction of the Eyrie. “You should get back, Veronyka. They’ll be looking for you.”
Veronyka nodded, but she didn’t move. “Where will you go?” She thought about offering to talk to Tristan, to Commander Cassian, or even to Ersken. Her sister could be a valuable asset to any of them, but she knew Val would never accept and that it would be a terrible idea besides.
Though Veronyka took care to guard her mind, Val’s lips quirked into a smile, as if Veronyka were projecting her thoughts for all the world to hear.
“I think I’ll make for the ruins of Aura and the Everlasting Flame,” Val said. “I’ve always wanted to see it. They say the queens of old linger there, whispering their stories for anyone brave enough to hear them.”
A flicker of longing sparked to life inside Veronyka. She realized with sudden finality that even if Val did make it there—the way was notoriously treacherous, the roads and bridges collapsed and crumbled with age, and the very summit reachable only on phoenix-back—and she heard those ancient secrets, Veronyka would never know. She wouldn’t be waiting at home next to the hearth, eager for Val’s return. They would never share their lives that way again.
She hesitated, knowing her sister would scoff at her next words, but she said them anyway. “Be careful.”
Val smiled, the bright morning sun turning her auburn hair to fire. “I’ve been through much, much worse, xe Nyka. One day you’ll understand.”
“I want to understand now,” Veronyka said, taking a step forward. Val was the kind of person who never really let you in. You could talk to her day after day, year after year, spend your entire life together and still not truly know her. If this was going to be the last time Veronyka ever saw her sister, she wanted to find something true about her, something more than just her callous nature and darkly burning heart. “Tell me.”
Val studied her for a long time. “I can’t tell you,” she said with a resolute shake of her head.
Veronyka wilted, the walls between them—magical, physical, and emotional—as impenetrable as always.
But I can show you, Val said.
The world around Veronyka disappeared, the walls she’d just lamented completely obliterated. Suddenly, she was in one of her dreams, the scene playing out before her waking eyes.
She sat at the head of a long wooden table, oil lamps casting pools of light over its surface. Across from her was the same girl who was always at her side in these visions. She was a young woman now, her deep-set eyes shadowed and wary.
Other people filled the room, but dream-Veronyka wasn’t interested in them. She stared intently, fixedly, at the girl, noticing every breath and sigh of movement. She seemed paler than usual and pressed a hand to her stomach as if she might be sick. She kept glancing toward the corner of the room, where a guard stood by the door. Maybe she was nervous and his presence reassured her. Or maybe she wanted to note how far the door was, in case she had to make a run for the chamber pot.
When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a seemingly innocuous gesture—rage boiled in Veronyka’s veins. The girl’s hair was glossy, straight—and unbraided. This was a recent development, Veronyka sensed, and as she took in the surrounding people once more, she noticed a distinct difference between those who clustered around the girl across from her and the ones who stood near Veronyka.
Those around the girl wore the robes of council members, which included a mix of provincial governors and noble lords. Veronyka could make out the golden thread embroidered on their chests, indicating their positions: scales for the Minister of Law or overlapping circles for the Minister of Coin. One or two appeared to be military, their short hair, stiff postures, and colored sashes marking them as ranking soldiers in the army.
The people attending Veronyka in the dream were also important and high ranking—but certainly of a different sort. They were Phoenix Riders every one, wearing armguards and riding leathers, with shining obsidian beads and bright phoenix feathers hanging from their braided hair.