intertwined in Veronyka’s mind, just like the rivers of her magic. She couldn’t block shadow magic but continue to think of Val, and vice versa; thinking of Val meant thinking about shadow magic—their link and their shared past.
To let go of her magic, Veronyka would have to let go of Val, of the possibility of getting any answers about her past and her identity. It was a tough thing to swallow, but she would have to live with it. She hardly knew anything about the dead Phoenix Rider parents Val had invented for her all those years ago, so what was the difference?
As for Val—or rather, Avalkyra—Veronyka didn’t know what to do with that information anyway. The Ashfires had lost the throne, after all, and the empire had changed. The Phoenix Riders were rebuilding, but was there room for a queen among them when they had suffered as much as anyone at the hands of the Ashfires?
Until Val came forward and tried to stake her claim—which she no doubt had delusions of doing—Veronyka saw no reason to concern herself with it. Val had been Avalkyra Ashfire for sixteen years already, even if in secret, and all she’d tried to do was get a phoenix—and she had failed. As far as Veronyka knew, Avalkyra Ashfire was a ghost, just like the Feather-Crowned Queen. A shadow, a legacy… nothing that mattered now. The empire—the world—had moved on without her, and maybe Veronyka needed to as well.
The Ashfires were a part of the past—and so was Val. Maybe Veronyka needed to leave her there. What good was it to dwell on a past she couldn’t change, on an identity she couldn’t know? She would block her shadow magic, bury it down deep, and do the same with Val, too. With all of it.
Distantly, a bell chimed the watch change, and Veronyka got to her feet. “Thanks, Morra. For helping—and for not yelling at me.”
Morra chuckled, but her amusement faded as she considered Veronyka. In a gesture Veronyka could only describe as motherly, the woman reached out and tucked a strand of Veronyka’s now chin-length hair behind her ear. “It’s difficult being special—” she began, but Veronyka immediately cut her off.
“I’m not special.”
Morra dropped her hand and rolled her eyes, all motherly tenderness gone. “Different, then. But you are, Veronyka. And when you finally figure it all out, well… you’ll be something fierce.”
Despite the stress and the worry and fear, Veronyka couldn’t help it—she grinned.
But it was in that darkness that the girl learned to find
her own way in the world. To find her own strength.
That girl, daughter, was me.
- CHAPTER 5 - ELLIOT
ELLIOT WALKED THE STRONGHOLD alone.
He was used to being alone these days, so utterly at ease with closing himself off from everything and everyone that the thought of actually being a Rider again—of laughing and training and sleeping next to his fellow apprentices—filled him with something close to dread.
Of course, Elliot had been alone long before he’d been exposed for spying on the Riders. He’d been alone since the day that man, Captain Belden, showed up at his front door and made plain the conditions upon which Elliot would be allowed to become a Rider in the first place—and all it would cost him and his family if he failed.
And he had failed. His father was under constant watch from whoever had been pulling Belden’s strings, and his sister…
Elliot squeezed his eyes shut.
A low croon reverberated in the back of his mind, thrumming through the bond, just as a similar throaty sound emanated from the beak of the creature flying above him.
Jaxon. Elliot sighed, glancing up at his phoenix. Sometimes he forgot that he was never truly alone, despite how it felt. He did have a bondmate, for better or—as he’d come to think of it lately—worse. Jax deserved more than a bondmate who was filled with self-loathing and constantly moping about. He deserved better than a Rider who was never allowed to actually ride.
Jax continued to try to bolster Elliot through their connection, though his positive mood flickered and faltered, reminding Elliot that every bleak, sour thought that crossed his own mind took up residence in his bondmate’s head as well.
Elliot clenched his fists, guilt twisting his stomach. Everything—he made everything worse. For his family. For the Riders. For his own damned bondmate.
Walking with his shoulders hunched, Elliot passed beneath the stronghold gate under the watchful eye of the guards stationed above, then through the dark village, pools of golden