quench her thirst for light and fire. There, she learned to live off shadows instead, turning into a shadow herself. But always, the hunger remained.”
Val came to a stop next to her chair, but she did not retake it. She ran a hand along its high back, mimicking what Veronyka had done in the real world mere moments before, and studied Pheronia.
“And who am I in that story?” Pheronia asked. “Xenith, the weakest of the three—the one meant to be devoured?”
Val lifted her shoulders in an idle shrug, a slight smirk on her lips, as if the correlation should be obvious.
“That makes you Nox, then,” Pheronia said, shaking her head. The smirk left Val’s face. “I would rather be devoured by another than live long enough to devour myself. Be careful, sister. What will you do, where will you turn, when there is nothing left to take?”
Val didn’t respond, though it was obvious the words had gotten to her. Veronyka felt the unease and mild confusion in her stomach. Had Val not realized that by casting Pheronia in the role of the devoured, she was in turn casting herself in the role of the devourer? Or had the truth of it not penetrated her mind until now?
“Kyra, please,” Pheronia said, using a nickname for Val that Veronyka had never heard before. “We need to talk.”
“No.”
Pheronia studied her for a long time. “If you do not learn to bend, Avalkyra Ashfire,” she said softly, “eventually you’ll break.”
Then Pheronia turned on her heel and swept from the room. The armed Riders glanced to Val for orders, but to Veronyka’s surprise, Val let her sister leave.
“But—my queen,” spluttered one of the women seated at Val’s table. “Surely we should keep her here as a bargaining chip or a hostage—”
Val retook her seat and picked up the broken arrow. “No. Keeping her will change nothing. This war will continue whether Pheronia wills it or not. She is a figurehead, a puppet for the council’s machinations. Nothing more.”
But she was more—Val knew it, felt it in her bones—and Veronyka knew it too. Pheronia had more strength than Val would ever openly admit, more intelligence and compassion and reason. Perhaps they would have ruled well together: Pheronia’s cool head and thoughtful nature coupled with Val’s strength and passion. Perhaps they could have been more than dead queens at the center of an empire on fire.
One thing was certain: Val still loved her sister in this moment, and for all her darkness, she could not—would not—deal her a fatal blow. Somehow, even this deep into the war, Val still believed she and Pheronia would come out of it together.
Veronyka wondered if that hopeful part of her died along with her flesh, or if she still longed to make peace with her past.
She wondered if there was a chance at redemption for her.
Veronyka was utterly entranced by the scene, but a tug in her mind was drawing her away, like her head was submerged and someone was pulling it out of water.
She gasped as she came back to herself. She was leaning against the old high-backed chair, a mockery of a throne, and the real world revealed itself slowly, blotchy black dots receding.
This room was darker than the dream room because Tristan had lit only two of the torches—one of which was guttering on the ground next to him. He was on his knees, blinking as if he too were coming back from a daze—and of course he was. They were bonded, and Veronyka had given herself up to the vision willingly, eagerly.
But Tristan was not alone.
The man they’d followed here stood over him, gripping the scruff of Tristan’s collar and holding a knife to his throat.
And next to him was Val.
They are day and night and scattered light; sun and moon and distant stars.
They are life and death and what is left; all and nothing and everything in between.
—“Axura, Nox, and Xenith,” a fragment from Songs of the Sky, an oral poem attributed to Roza Heartlight, one of the First Riders and the inaugural High Priestess of Axura, circa 975 BE
You are a daughter of queens.
But so are we. Where did we go wrong?
Was there ever a chance for us?
- CHAPTER 33 - SEV
THEY CAME UPON HILLSBRIDGE in the middle of the night.
The dogs were first to raise the alarm. Then there was fire, and smoke, and screams.
The farmers scrambled, terrified, from their beds, taking up whatever weapons they had on hand to defend their families. They