then into nothing. Veronyka had finally jerked her arm out of Val’s grip.
“Where are they taking her?”
“To the stars,” Val had said, looking up at the blue sky, where nothing but sunlight shone. It was strange for Veronyka to hear those words from Val when it was her maiora who had taught her that after death the soul rose up into the sky to live among the stars, to be Axura’s light in the darkness of night, where she could not shine.
“Does that mean . . . ? Is she . . . ? Is she . . . ?” Veronyka had faltered, not wanting to know the truth, but needing to hear it all the same.
“She is dead, xe Nyka.”
“Are you sure?” Veronyka whispered, tears blurring her vision at the realization that she’d abandoned her grandmother to that fate. When Val didn’t answer, she’d taken it as an affirmation. “But who will burn her body?”
Val had knelt in front of her then. “Do not cry for the dead,” she’d said, stoic as ever as she’d mopped her sister’s wet face. “Cry for the living—cry for us. Things will be harder from here on out.”
“But . . .”
“Soldiers die all the time, Nyka, and no matter how much she liked to play nursemaid, your maiora was a soldier. We survived. That’s what matters. It’s what she would have wanted.”
Now, in this cold cabin, rage reared up inside Veronyka. Val knew the motions, understood the gestures and the words that were expected, but she performed them like a poor player reciting an epic poem—the moves studied and unnatural.
Val had never shed a tear, said a prayer, or even spoken fondly of their grandmother. Sometimes Veronyka wondered if it was because she wasn’t technically related to them. Their “grandmother” had been their mother’s mentor and dearest friend, and as the war had grown desperate, she had sworn to protect Val and Veronyka if the worst should happen. It had—both of their parents had died during the Last Battle of the Blood War.
Other times Veronyka convinced herself that Val was cut off and distant not because of a lack of feelings, but rather because she hid them, forcing the emotions down as a survival technique.
But that was wishful, childish thinking. Val was every callous word spoken and cruel action undertaken. Val was colder than the River Aurys and more hollow than a solstice festival bell. It was no wonder the second egg didn’t hatch, no wonder that Xephyra had chosen to bond with Veronyka. Val was an empty shell and had nothing in her heart to give.
And now, for the first time, Veronyka was seeing her sister clearly.
She shoved Val aside and lurched toward the door. She couldn’t bear to look at Val or to even glance in the direction of the body. Just the thought of it was enough to leave her dizzy and weak. And she couldn’t be weak—not now.
Val followed her as she rounded the side of the cabin. “Veronyka,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “Veronyka, stop. What are you—” But as Veronyka started piling firewood in her arms from the stack against the wall, Val’s mouth snapped shut.
Veronyka pushed past her, back the way she’d come, her footsteps slowing as she approached the door. Her jaw trembled, but she clenched it tight and forced one foot in front of the other.
Her vision blurred with unshed tears, but she could still see the body.
Xephyra.
She was as brightly colored as always, vivid red feathers and autumn-gold beak, yet somehow smaller in death than in life.
Veronyka stepped around her bondmate and threw the wood onto the hearth. Showers of sparks and clouds of ash billowed up, and Veronyka breathed deeply.
This is not the end.
Movement sounded behind Veronyka as she stoked the flames, but she ignored Val completely, urging the wood to burn hotter, faster.
Like many things, her maiora had taught Veronyka about phoenix resurrection. She’d explained how phoenixes could live forever if not mortally wounded, but if they had grown weary with the world, they might ignite and choose death—or resurrection—instead.
Her maiora had said the eldest female phoenix in existence had been at least two hundred years old.
“Maybe even older!” she had exclaimed. “The phoenix just turned up one day, mind closed tight as a trapdoor, with no hint of her name or her bondmate. She had the longest tail feathers ever recorded, so putting an exact age on her was near impossible—though she was certainly older than the empire. Imagine