her plans for lunch, never mind the scheme that would put her on the throne. “What’s to stop me from telling all of this to my betrothed?”
“It’s simple. You tell him, and I’ll slit your bondmate’s throat.”
Simple.
Veronyka supposed it was. This person before her… she was not Veronyka’s sister, not her friend or her family, whatever blood—and magic—might bind them together. She was Veronyka’s enemy, and that knowledge did simplify things.
Veronyka hadn’t come forward with her identity or willfully set herself against Val. She hadn’t tried to gather allies or make a claim on the throne. And still Val had put them in opposition to each other. Veronyka would be drawn into Val’s machinations whether she willed it or not.
Val would never let her walk away.
And so Veronyka wouldn’t. She would embrace her true identity and the power—and responsibility—that came with it.
Val intended to rule the empire, cutting a fiery, bloody path to the throne. She’d sacrifice the small amount of peace they’d managed in the wake of her first bid for the crown. And that was only her rise to power. What would happen if Val could command armies and write laws? It was a prospect too terrifying to consider.
For once Veronyka thought she understood the commander’s insistence that peace was worth whatever price.
But she would not give Avalkyra Ashfire peace.
Veronyka would fight her every day, in every way she knew how.
“Do we understand each other?” Val asked.
“Perfectly,” Veronyka bit out, her teeth clenched.
“That is good, xe Nyka,” Val said, her face suddenly soft. “I am tired of arguing with girls who look and sound like you.”
“You mean my mother,” Veronyka said, more statement than question.
“I do,” she said, and left the room. Sidra followed, slamming the door behind her and sliding the bolt into place.
Veronyka hurried to the door anyway, peering out the window, but all she could see was the empty hallway. Sidra had even taken the wall sconce with her—not trusting Veronyka with an open flame.
The room was dark and still, yet the walls seemed to pulse, closing in on her a little bit more with each rapid, suffocating breath.
How could Veronyka have let this happen?
Xephyra? she choked through the bond, needing to get out of this confinement—but of course, Xephyra was confined too. Again.
Veronyka couldn’t believe she’d been so foolish, selfish—reckless, just as Latham had said—and now here she was, once again a victim of Val, a helpless, powerless prisoner. And for what? Yes, she’d freed the animage hostages, but now she’d taken their place, and she was no closer to stopping this war.
In fact, by allowing herself to be caught, she might very well have sealed Val’s victory.
Here, Xephyra said at once, and it was the reassurance Veronyka desperately needed and didn’t deserve.
I’m so sorry, Veronyka said, but she had difficulty finding words after that. She had forsaken Xephyra by coming here, and Tristan, too. She’d sacrificed her true family for the hope of some shining, intangible thing tied to blood, when all Val had ever done was use their blood—and Veronyka’s love for Val—against her.
Family was more than blood; family was the people you chose. And Veronyka had let fear and uncertainty make her lose sight of things she already knew. Just like her fear of her true identity made her lose sight of the fact that she already knew who she was, and no birth certificate could change that.
Without the sconce her room was draped in shadows. The moon’s poor, watery illumination striped through the window and balcony bars, reminding Veronyka exactly where she was. A cell.
She could sense Xephyra in the distance, just out of reach, but couldn’t actually see her. She cast her senses wider, seeking any animal that might be able to help her, but the rocky, arid landscape was virtually devoid of wildlife.
Veronyka slumped down against the wall, her legs still unsteady after the poisoning.
It will be okay, she said to her bondmate, hoping the words would override the anxious terror bubbling just below the surface of her mind. I will free you if it’s the last thing I ever do.
Images of Rex and Tristan flashed between them, and the sight caused a prickle of tears to sting Veronyka’s eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. I miss them too.
Then she sat bolt upright, realization shooting through her—Xephyra wasn’t just missing them. She was showing Veronyka the way to gain their freedom. She had a bond with Tristan, did she not? Of course, Veronyka had been doing everything she could to stifle