peace and coexistence, thrusting them into the final conflict of the Blood War. What had Val said to Veronyka right before leaving her at the bottom of the Eyrie?
Then I hope for your sake, Veronyka, that you’ve chosen the right side.
Sides . . . was that how Val saw things? Since Veronyka wasn’t with her, she was now against her? Was Val still fighting the Blood War, or was she trying to start a new one?
As Veronyka came back to herself, she realized Morra was scrutinizing her closely. “Has something else happened?” Morra asked, frowning. “It’s not Tristan, is it? Or one of the other Riders? Cassian told me they’d all made it back.”
“Tristan’s fine. Everything’s . . .” Well, everything was most certainly not fine, but Morra already knew that. “It’s nothing. I just . . .”
“It’s natural to wonder about resurrection and rebirth, when there’s so much death about,” Morra said, somewhat mollified, though she still seemed troubled by Veronyka’s behavior.
Before she could say more, several people bustled in, looking for ointments and salves and herb tea. Morra got up to attend to them, and Veronyka slid off her stool and went back outside.
She offered assistance everywhere she could—to the healer’s helpers who’d retrieved the medicine from Morra, to the builders and laborers who were putting out fires and clearing away detritus, and to the guards who were trying to reestablish a watch and ensure there were no further attacks forthcoming—but everyone turned her away. Even Jana, who had an arm in a sling and was covered head to toe in dust and dirt, insisted that everything was well in hand. People kept telling her to lie down, to relax, to take the opportunity to rest.
As if her entire world hadn’t just been upended.
With nowhere else to go and nothing to do, she had no choice but to try.
The barracks was quiet as she entered, save for the steady breathing of several others who’d managed to slip away for some sleep. Veronyka supposed it made sense to split up the work, to allow some people to rest now so they could relieve the others later.
She sat on her hammock, swaying gently as she reached into her pocket for her braided bracelet. When she lifted it out, something clanged to the ground and rolled several feet away.
Veronyka dropped lightly onto the floor, spotting a fat golden bead attached to an auburn braid.
Fingers trembling, she picked up the piece of hair, knowing it was Val’s. When had that gotten inside her pocket? Veronyka flashed back to when she’d woken up alone with Val, after fainting outside the enclosure. It would have been easy enough to put it inside her pocket when she was unconscious.
The bead was familiar, yet Veronyka had never really looked at it closely before. Though Veronyka was usually the one to brush and braid Val’s hair, Val was particular about her beads and embellishments, insisting on knotting them in herself. Veronyka had always assumed the golden trinket was fake, some painted piece of wood or stone, but it was heavy in her hand. Turning it over, she realized it wasn’t a bead at all but a ring, knotted into the strands of hair to keep it in place.
Clutching it tightly, Veronyka climbed back onto her hammock, carefully unweaving the braid and holding the ring up to the light filtering in through the window.
It was a thick band, though it slipped snugly onto Veronyka’s finger. The face was flat and unadorned, except for an emblem carved into the surface, like a seal.
Or a signet.
Veronyka marveled as she recognized the familiar design—spread wings wreathed in flames, with two A’s at its center: the sigil of Avalkyra Ashfire. She’d seen it before, stamped into bits of leather for sale at back-alley markets or painted onto phoenix dedications on the very outskirts of the empire. And, of course, she’d seen it in her dreams.
Veronyka called up her most recent vision, the moment when Avalkyra pressed her golden seal into the document that her sister then ripped in two.
Could this be that same ring?
Slipping it off her finger once more, Veronyka noticed a further engraving on the inside of the band, so small that it was difficult to read, but she managed to pick it out.
Avalkyra Ashfire, the Feather-Crowned Queen
B: 152 AE–D: 170 AE
The numbers were written in the same way they recorded years in the empire—AE stood for “After the Empire,” and the dates ranged an eighteen-year span. Not her supposed