Veronyka would often daydream about returning to those places on phoenix-back, scraping the paint clean or cracking the sidewalk in half to reveal the truth beneath.
With a jolt, she realized that this daydream now had the potential to become reality.
Veronyka watched her sister warily; first Val put away the food stores, then she tore open the bag of cornmeal with her teeth, pouring some into a small bowl and stirring in dollops of honey, producing a fine, grainy paste.
“For the bird,” she said at last, nodding her head in the direction of the phoenix. “Later it will be ready for dates and fresh fruit, if we can get them.”
Val knew everything there was to know about phoenixes, thanks to their maiora, who had been a Phoenix Rider back in her day—one of the few who had escaped the empire’s notice, at least for a time. Their grandmother loved to tell stories, and while Veronyka had been interested in epic battles and romances, Val had wanted to know more practical things.
Veronyka took the bowl from Val, who refused to meet her gaze, and placed it on the ground next to the phoenix. The bird inspected the mixture for a moment before dipping its beak into the sticky-sweet concoction. “The other one’s gonna hatch soon, right, Val?”
Val looked at the rocklike egg, sitting among the burning coals.
“Going to,” she said, avoiding the question and closing the shutters with a loud clack.
The phoenix’s head popped up at the sound, but it quickly returned to its meal. The broken shutters blocked out most of the late-morning sunlight, leaving the cabin in near darkness, save for the warm glow of the fire.
Strange that there were three of them now, when it had just been Veronyka and Val for most of their lives. Their parents had died in the Blood War, and their grandmother, who had raised them for a time, had been beaten to death by an angry mob almost ten years later.
While the immediate aftermath of the war was apparently the worst, there had been many incidents throughout the years—trials of famous Riders discovered in hiding, small groups of rebels and dissidents rounded up and executed—that had caused new fervor to ripple through the empire. The council—the ruling body of the empire, made up of the four provincial governors as well as lawmakers, bankers, landowners, and other important political leaders—made an example of anyone who didn’t fall in line, doling out punishments that were swift and severe. Animages grew more fearful and went deeper into hiding, while those who’d grown to hate them thanks to the war became eager to hunt them down and ferret them out again.
It was one such riot that had taken their grandmother. It began outside the courthouses after a trial and spread toward the Narrows, where many animages lived in secret.
When their maiora heard the mob coming, she’d told Veronyka and Val to flee and leave her behind. The girls were small and fast and could slip out windows and slink through alleys that she could not.
Veronyka had refused and held fast to her grandmother’s old, withered hand. When their door had burst open, her grandmother turned to her, as calm and reassuring as the eye of the storm.
“Protect each other,” she’d whispered in Veronyka’s ear before being wrenched from her grasp and dragged toward the door.
Val had wrapped an arm around Veronyka’s middle, hauling her away, but Veronyka had refused to go quietly. She’d kicked and screamed and bit Val’s arm, but her fighting was useless. She’d been forced to stare, wild-eyed and panicked, as her maiora was swallowed by the seething crowd. Veronyka didn’t know how they’d found her grandmother or what had given her away, but the mob was too worked up to be reasoned with.
Val pulled Veronyka out the small window, only just evading the grasping, clawing hands of the crowd.
As they fled from the chaos, her grandmother’s whispered words echoed in Veronyka’s mind. Protect each other.
At the time she’d taken the words to mean that she and Val must look out for each other, but the longer she thought about it, she suspected that her grandmother had meant more than that. In the face of hatred and fear and death, her maiora had spoken about love and protection.
That was what being a Phoenix Rider meant to Veronyka. Riders were guardians and protectors, and that was what Veronyka wanted to be as well. It was how she’d keep her grandmother’s memory alive.
Still, Veronyka had hated Val in that moment, resenting the ease with which she’d left their maiora behind. Veronyka had fought, no matter how fruitless, but Val had not.
With time and perspective, Veronyka realized that Val had been what she’d needed to be for them to survive. Veronyka’s tears and panic helped nothing. It was Val’s determination and levelheadedness that had gotten them through. She was only eleven when their maiora died—just a year older than Veronyka—and had shouldered the burden of caring for them both ever since.
As Val lay down on their pallet against the wall, a pang of guilt throbbed low in the pit of Veronyka’s stomach. Val had done so much for her, had given her more than Veronyka could ever repay. Now Val had given her a bondmate—the greatest gift of all.
After a moment’s hesitation, Veronyka left the phoenix—the simple act of putting distance between them was like a physical pull on her heart—and joined her sister. They always slept together out of necessity, for warmth or because of limited space. Val would never admit it, but Veronyka knew they slept side by side for comfort, too.
As she settled in next to her sister, the knot of unease that had tightened inside her after Val’s disappearance loosened somewhat. Protect each other. No matter what, that was what they did—what they would always do. Val was difficult. She had the capacity for dismissiveness and cold cruelty. But she was also Veronyka’s sister, the person Veronyka loved and respected—and yes, feared—most. They would get through this, just like they’d gotten through everything in their lives: together.
Val faced the wall, and Veronyka stared at the back of her head. Her sister’s long dark-red hair pooled on the mat between them, the color rare and particularly unique among brown-skinned Pyraeans. The light of the fire made the strands glow, glinting off beads and brightly colored thread woven into dozens of braids. The plaited hairstyle had been a Pyraean tradition since before the Golden Empire, during the Reign of Queens, when Pyra was ruled by a succession of fierce female sovereigns—Phoenix Riders every one. Both men and women would adorn their hair, using valuable gemstones or found keepsakes to commemorate important events and milestones.
Even after Pyra became a part of the empire, Phoenix Riders would wear phoenix feathers and bits of obsidian, marking them as part of the elite class of warriors. Each piece of volcanic glass, often used for spears and arrowheads in the old days, represented a victory in battle, a token of pride and a mark of experience. It was said that Avalkyra Ashfire had so many knotted into her hair that they scraped and sliced her bare skin, leaving a mantle of blood about her shoulders.
Braids had become increasingly rare in the valley, where the decorations could be seen as a mark of loyalty to Phoenix Riders and Avalkyra Ashfire—and disloyalty to the empire’s governors. Val had refused to give up the tradition, so the sisters had worn headscarves for most of their childhood. It was a common accessory in the empire, helping them blend in and hide the evidence of who they truly were.