tradition, so the sisters had worn headscarves for most of their childhood. It was a common accessory in the empire, helping them blend in and hide the evidence of who they truly were.
Veronyka ran her hands absently through Val’s silky red hair, which was in desperate need of care. Knots and tangles had formed among the loose strands, and many of her braids were sloppy and growing out. They had to be periodically redone, so that the heavy beads and keepsakes didn’t fall out, and since Pyrean hair was straight and shiny, treated with wax or oil for better grip. Unless Veronyka did it for her—and even that was something Val barely tolerated—her sister was completely uninterested in washing, brushing, and caring for her hair.
While Val’s deep red shade was prized among their people, like the fiery plumage of the sacred phoenix, Veronyka’s hair was common black. It was a bit shorter than her sister’s, but dressed similarly with plaits accessorized with charms and colored thread. They even had a few matching braids, and sometimes Veronyka liked to seek them out, to remind herself of all they had shared, despite their differences.
She found the pearlescent shells from the time both girls had learned to swim with their maiora in the Fingers, the network of rivers that split from the Palm and snaked past the capital city. The entire system of rivers was called the Godshand, fed by the River Aurys, which began atop Pyrmont and split in the valley to spread across most of the empire. Their grandmother said that all Pyraeans should learn to swim in the Aurys, the river of their homeland, and that the water of the Fingers was as close as they were going to get.
After weeks of practice, young hearts full of determination, both Veronyka and Val swam to the opposite bank of the fattest Finger, collected a shell from the pebbled shore, then swam back. Val had been fastest, of course, but for once she hadn’t made Veronyka feel lesser because of it. They’d both sat on the riverbank afterward, faces glowing and teeth chattering, while their maiora braided the shells into their hair.
With a wistful sigh, Veronyka put the shell-capped braids aside and located the wooden beads they’d carved and painted by hand during their first night spent in Pyra, and next to those, the strips of cotton they’d twined into their hair, dipped in ink and ash to commemorate their grandmother’s death.
Each braid marked a memory of their lives together, woven in a living tapestry, forever binding them.
When Val’s breathing turned steady, Veronyka released her hair, sat up, and crept toward the fire. Quietly she picked through the embers at the edge of the hearth, the phoenix watching curiously. Veronyka saw flickers of its mind through their bond—a series of sights, sounds, and sensations—that made the world around her feel brighter and more interesting. The phoenix was too young to form any real thoughts or reflections, but already its presence was reassuring to her.
When she found what she was looking for—parts of curving, jagged phoenix shell—Veronyka carefully selected a piece that wasn’t too sharp. Setting it aside, she found the small box of thread and wax that she used to maintain her and her sister’s hair. There was a wooden comb inside as well, plus twine, needles, a file, and other small tools. Veronyka unearthed the file, carefully wearing down the sharp edges of the eggshell, which was a good deal thicker than regular bird shells. Then she used a needle to carefully twist a hole through the thickest part, as she’d seen her grandmother do with the delicate river shells from the Fingers.
Finally, she pulled forth a chunk of loose hair from the nape of her neck. She wasn’t hiding it, exactly, but she didn’t want the braid to be too noticeable in case it made Val angry. Surely she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that Veronyka had a bondmate and she did not.
For now.
According to Val, the bonding process began before the phoenix even hatched, which was why it was important to remain close during the entire incubation period. Each phoenix chose their bondmate before they entered the world, making a magical connection before a physical one. And for some reason the first phoenix had chosen her.
Veronyka worked hand-warmed wax through her hair before she began braiding, the familiar twisting motions soothing some of her remorse.
Val would forgive her—she always did. Soon the second egg would hatch, and everything would be