When Sparrow suggested Veronyka become a boy, it was the first thing she’d thought of. If she were going to transform herself and start over, why not fully embrace it? Besides, anything she could do to be more like the others could only help her in blending in. The short hair did make her look more masculine, highlighting her sharp jaw and cheekbones, and when she used a scrap of fabric to flatten her breasts, the simple transformation was complete.
While the hair itself was meaningless to her, the beads and sentimental embellishments she’d added over the years were priceless. Veronyka had salvaged what she could and stuffed the mess into a secret pocket inside her trousers. She had stitched it in years ago in order to hide coins and other valuables from pickpockets and thieves—and, in this case, random body searches.
As long as she didn’t let her voice get too high, she’d be fine. She was Nyk now, and Veronyka was just another part of her past she’d have to leave behind.
“Well, we’d best be off,” Beryk said. “It’s a short walk, so the mounts’ll meet us there,” he continued as the last two phoenixes took to the sky, leaving their Riders behind.
Beryk took the lead, keeping Veronyka’s knife and small bundle of supplies in hand, while Elliot walked behind. He seemed tense and wary, as if he expected her to make a run for it, and it almost made Veronyka laugh—she could barely put one foot in front of the other, never mind attempt an escape.
It was a strange relief to surrender herself to her captors’ control after almost a week of hard travel, worrying about getting lost and struggling to keep herself from going hungry or becoming dehydrated.
By the time she’d gotten her disguise in place in Vayle, Beryk’s wagon had long since disappeared over the hills. Veronyka had been ready to run after them when she realized that time might be her friend. If she’d caught up to Beryk that night, surely he would have been suspicious and would have remembered the girl’s face from that morning a little bit too clearly. But if she crossed paths with them at Rushlea or Petratec—the places he’d mentioned visiting next—she had a better shot at presenting herself as a boy recruit and fooling them. She knew he might still spot similarities between Veronyka’s two personas, which was why she’d thought up the sister lie. She did have a sister, much as she loathed to remember it, so it felt easier to pass off as a truth.
As Veronyka had prepared for several days of travel, Sparrow had been worth her weight in gold. She’d helped gather provisions for the journey, begging stale bread from the baker, scraps of salt trout from the fishmonger, and several packs of dried venison from a hunter passing through town.
When she was young, Veronyka had struggled with the concept of eating animals. It had seemed cannibalistic in some way, as if she were eating her friends. But over time, after connecting with animal after animal, she began to understand that they didn’t see it that way. Humans were predators, and eating prey was where they fit on the food chain. Hunting was still difficult for her to imagine, though animages did it all the time, tracing back to the First Riders, who were famed hunters. They would never use their magic to lure prey, though, because they considered that an abuse of Axura’s gift.
The nonmagical folk in the empire, however, felt differently. They were more than happy to force their bondservants to keep livestock docile before they were slaughtered or to ensnare a stag on a hunting party. It was a cruel use of their gift; animages deserved better than that, and the animals under their charge did too.
After the food stores were taken care of, Sparrow had given Veronyka a small satchel and an old tin pot from her personal supply of hoarded items that she kept hidden in a tree. When Veronyka mentioned her Ferronese steel blade, Sparrow’s mouth had fallen open.
“Would fetch a pretty penny if you wanted to part with it. Then you could make your own, like me,” she added, indicating her spear.
“I think I ought to keep it,” Veronyka had said, adjusting the knife where it stuck out of her belt. “In case of emergency.”
She remembered her grandmother mentioning private Phoenix Rider tutors. They were usually retired Riders paid for by wealthy valley lords to teach