mind. It was more like a hole, a puncture wound in the walls of the creature’s defenses. If the phoenix’s mind was a stronghold, Avalkyra’s shadow magic was a battering ram.
But it was tiring. A phoenix’s will wasn’t easily bent and broken, and Avalkyra was in a state of near-constant exhaustion.
She still felt faint and shaky—nausea was a rare symptom of magic overuse—but the night air cooled her brow and after several moments gathering herself, she got to her feet. No matter the cost, she couldn’t give up now, not when the possibilities unfurled before her. If she could make this work, she’d be the first Phoenix Rider in history without a bond.
If anyone could do it, Avalkyra Ashfire could.
Her plans were starting to come together at long last—or at least, they had been. She’d finally gotten her phoenix—untempered, unbound, and practically uncontrollable, but hers nonetheless—and she’d been on the way to get what she needed to lure Veronyka to her side once more. But by luck or ill fate, Veronyka had gotten there first.
For almost seventeen years Avalkyra had guarded her secrets, hoarding them like precious treasure. First, she hadn’t understood who or what she was, some not-quite-child confused by a past life that haunted her day and night. So she’d developed a habit of gathering useless trinkets—bits of rocks shaped like arrowheads and dirty brown feathers from the doves that clustered outside the orphanage window—trying to put her life together like a puzzle without all the pieces. As she grew older, Avalkyra learned to call down messenger pigeons to steal letters and to pick pockets along the busy Narrows streets or the docks along the Fingers. At that point she’d had a better idea of what she was looking for, and by the time she’d found Ilithya’s hovel with Veronyka inside, Avalkyra had a pouch filled with coins, a piece of true Pyraean obsidian, a rusted Ferronese steel knife, and an old leaflet distributed by the Council of Governors announcing her death at the end of the war.
Ilithya already had a cache of her own, and together they had swelled its contents, building a story of the past and looking for a way to rewrite the future. Ilithya was the one who had found the letters between Pheronia and Avalkyra, stolen from the locked drawers of private collectors, and she had also ensured that Veronyka’s birth certificate was authenticated before she absconded with both the child and the official documentation. She’d made a bloody mess to retrieve Avalkyra’s signet ring, leaving bodies and burning buildings in her wake.
But as Avalkyra’s memories grew stronger, the box had become something she dreaded to look at or think about… a weak, washed-out version of what had once been. A reminder when she didn’t want to be reminded, and evidence of the things she couldn’t forget no matter how hard she tried.
Still, Avalkyra had protected it, clutching that box from one run-down apartment to the next, just as she’d clutched Veronyka’s hand, and when Ilithya was swallowed by that mob, Avalkyra had returned to the scene of the crime and dug those buried treasures up from the dirt.
But sometimes the lockbox was safer when it wasn’t with her—like when she’d set out after Veronyka at the Eyrie—so she’d left it buried inside their cabin. Veronyka didn’t know the man who owned it would never return, thanks to a quiet knife in the dark delivered by Avalkyra’s steady hand, and besides, she hadn’t thought Veronyka would have the guts to return to that cursed cabin, the place where her bondmate had died.
Except that she had.
Avalkyra had gone back to unearth the past as she’d done countless times before, only to find Veronyka was there. It was almost a boon—and despite her frustration with the girl, Avalkyra’s heart had leapt at the sight of her. If she’d been alone, Avalkyra knew she could have talked her around, convinced Veronyka to stay while she explained the truth of who they were and what they were meant to do.
Of course, old habits were like phoenixes—rising again and again—and the next thing she knew, they were locked together like snarling beasts. Avalkyra was fighting for something valuable beyond measure—their future—and Veronyka was fighting because she was angry and afraid and knew that if Avalkyra wanted the box, it was worth fighting for.
Despite Veronyka’s ferocity, Avalkyra would have won that fight and won Veronyka to her side if the commander’s son hadn’t turned up and shifted the confrontation