visible in the jagged openings. There was a shudder, and then a small golden beak poked through.
A thrill surged into Veronyka’s limbs—she wanted to clap, to cheer—but she fought the sensation, remaining rigidly, unnaturally still. She was afraid to breathe, to blink, determined not to miss a single glorious moment. There was a roaring in her ears, a rushing sound that turned everything in the world except her and this egg into empty, white nothingness.
Veronyka didn’t know how long they watched, but hours—or maybe minutes—later, the egg finally cracked open, and a phoenix fell sideways onto the burning embers. It was a brilliant, vivid red—a color Veronyka had never seen in all her life, brighter than a jewel, more exquisite than dyed silk.
She stared at the creature, the jubilation brimming inside her tinged with complete and utter astonishment—they’d actually done it. After all this time, they’d actually hatched a phoenix.
As the bird struggled to its feet, its damp down hissed and smoked, making contact with the charcoal beneath it.
Forgetting that this was a firebird, that heat couldn’t harm a creature born from ash and flame, Veronyka gasped and reached forward. Val blocked her outstretched hand, giving Veronyka a moment for her brain to catch up with her body.
The phoenix stumbled over the bits of broken shell, impervious to the heat, until at last it steadied itself and shuffled around to face them. It looked like any ordinary newly hatched chick—wobbly and unstable—with barely there wings and a narrow, spindly neck that could hardly hold up its head. But its eyes . . . They were wide and large and alert.
And they latched on to Veronyka.
She exhaled, a last breath of air that marked the end of an old life—one that was small in scope and purpose. When Veronyka drew air again, it was the start of something new—a life that promised wind-tossed hair and endless blue skies and fire that burned hotter than the sun. Her fingers tingled, her senses sharpened, and the world was alive in a way that it had never been before. Her magic buzzed inside her, drumming like a second heartbeat—or maybe that was this creature’s pulse beating in time with her own.
In that instant Veronyka knew Val had been right about the bond between animage and phoenix. It wasn’t love—such a small word couldn’t begin to encompass the feelings of respect and devotion, of trust and codependence that existed between human and beast. The bond was a unity that was written in the stars, older than the empire and the valley and the mountains, older than the gods, a connection that not even death could shake. Endless, limitless, and somehow timeless, Veronyka’s fate was tied to this creature, and they would always be together.
They were bondmates.
A cool breeze slipped across her skin, and Veronyka broke eye contact. The cabin was glowing with pale dawn light, the front door wide open.
Val was nowhere in sight.
She returned some time later. Wearing a mask of indifference, she carried a new sack of rice, some cornmeal, salt fish and dried deer meat, a small ceramic jar of honey, and a bag of dates. The dates were a rare treat—expensive and grown only in the province of Stel. Even corn was hard to come by in the mountains, though some farmers worked the crop on the lower rim.
Veronyka got to her feet, leaving her phoenix on the ground and wiping sweaty palms against her trousers. Val often stormed off when she was upset, disappearing for hours—or days—with little by way of explanation. If Veronyka was lucky, the time would allow Val to cool off and forget her anger. If Veronyka was unlucky, Val’s rage would ripen and rot, becoming all the more potent in their time apart.
Sometimes Veronyka would have no idea what had set Val off—but this time she thought she knew. The first phoenix should have been Val’s—she was the eldest, and she’d been the one to find the eggs. Guilt nagged at Veronyka, but she fought hard not to let it spoil this sweet, shining moment. Val would be fine. They simply had to wait for the second egg to hatch.
The phoenix chirruped softly as it pecked around the edge of the fire. The warmth had turned its fiery red down into a soft puff, and its beak and feet were as golden as the phoenix statues Veronyka had seen as a child in the gods’ plaza in Aura Nova—before they’d been taken down. Once guardians and