“Not my sister,” Val conceded slowly, as if weighing her words very carefully. “You’ll have to come with me if you want to know more.”
Veronyka gritted her teeth. It was so unfair that Val should hold such information as if it were hers, as if Veronyka’s identity didn’t belong to Veronyka herself. As if she didn’t have a right to it.
“Then,” Val said, taking a tentative step forward, “once we’re together, we can—”
“We can what?” Veronyka demanded. “You can become queen while I watch from the sidelines? Is that what you wanted all this time? An audience? Someone smaller and weaker to make you feel superior?”
A spasm of frustration crossed Val’s face as she looked away. “No,” she said, her gaze roving the gloomy hovel. When she turned her eyes back to Veronyka, they were wide. Almost pleading. “Come with me, and I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
Promise. Veronyka shrank back from the word. What did promises mean to Val anyway? Before Veronyka could reply, Val’s gaze darted downward. It was the barest flicker of her eyes, but Veronyka knew somehow that Val was staring at the hole in the hearth—and the box Veronyka had unearthed there.
Maybe there was another way to know more.
Veronyka lunged toward the box just as Val did the same.
They collided in the dirt, and Veronyka was reminded of the last time they were here—when Veronyka struggled against Val to try to save Xephyra as she choked and spluttered on a poisoned date.
She sensed Xephyra now, fluttering outside the cabin, frantic and confused and fighting against Veronyka’s request to stay hidden and safe.
The last time they’d clashed, Veronyka had been easily overpowered—young and afraid and inexperienced.
She might still be some of those things—especially when she considered that Val was no regular sixteen-year-old—but she’d been sparring with Tristan for weeks now.
And she wasn’t going down without a fight.
Veronyka’s hands were on the box in the hearth, and Val was clawing at her wrists. Rather than leaning away from her, Veronyka angled her body toward Val and shoved her shoulder into Val’s chest, breaking Val’s hold and sending her stumbling.
Veronyka wrenched the box up from the dirt, but already Val was reaching for her with renewed ferocity. Veronyka tried to run, but Val grabbed her by the throat, dragging her backward.
The harder Val fought, the more certain Veronyka became that there were answers inside this box. That there was something vitally important within her grasp. She could not let it go.
Veronyka swung wildly, her elbow connecting with Val’s jaw—though she’d had to relinquish her two-handed grasp on the box to do it. Val took hold of Veronyka’s hair next, jerking hard, but Veronyka’s palms were slippery with dirt, and at the sudden jolt, the box flew out of her hand…
…and landed in the open doorway, where Tristan now stood.
Val let out a snarl of frustration, releasing Veronyka’s hair and backing to the far side of the cabin.
“You don’t understand,” Val said, panting from exertion. “We need to speak alone. There’s so much I have to say… so much to explain. You need me.”
The words were ones Val had spoken often in Veronyka’s life, and one of those times had been right here, in this room, after Xephyra was dead and Veronyka was preparing to run away.
“No, I don’t,” Veronyka said, her voice cold and sharp as shards of ice.
Val hesitated, glancing at Tristan, who scowled as he loomed in the doorway, then back at Veronyka. If she wanted another fight, this was one she wouldn’t win. “You know where to find me,” she said, tapping her temple once, softly, before slipping out the window and disappearing into the darkness.
But I am glad we had each other, my sister
and me. Even at the very end, I was glad.
- CHAPTER 10 - TRISTAN
“WAS… WAS THAT YOUR SISTER?” Tristan asked, still shocked by the scene he’d inadvertently stepped into. He knew it was Val—Tristan didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget her—but his mind had gone blank, and he didn’t know what else to say.
Veronyka was dirty and disheveled, her hair wild, and bloody tracks like fingernail gouges trailed along her arms and hands.
She didn’t answer. Instead she walked over and picked up a box from where it had landed mere feet in front of him. It looked to be made from wood and coated in some kind of shining lacquer, the surface plain and unmarked. She clutched it to her chest, and the