She glanced down at her wrist, where a braided bracelet sat. It was her own hair she’d cut off weeks ago, black and shining with a heavy coat of pyraflora resin, along with a single braid of Val’s vibrant red. There among the strands were beads and trinkets Veronyka had collected throughout her childhood, as well as a single, heavy golden ring.
It belonged to Val—or rather, Avalkyra Ashfire, the fierce warrior queen who had died almost two decades before and had been resurrected into the girl Veronyka had until recently thought was her sister.
The ring was tied into the braids so that only the simple golden band was visible, while the front, with Avalkyra Ashfire’s seal, was hidden from view.
The revelation that her sister, Val, wasn’t her sister at all had left Veronyka feeling utterly lost and adrift. Family had always been a fraught concept for her—how could it not be, with someone like Val as a sibling?—but at least she’d known where she belonged and who she was, however unimportant. Now that she’d discovered her maiora who’d raised her was actually Ilithya Shadowheart, Avalkyra Ashfire’s spymaster, and that Val was actually the Feather-Crowned Queen herself, Veronyka had to question everything she’d ever been told about her life. And the most pressing question of all? If Val was Avalkyra Ashfire, then who was Veronyka?
Only Val knew for sure, and she was not only elusive and self-serving—she was dangerous. Veronyka had seen firsthand what Val could do with shadow magic, and she feared opening herself up to her once-sister. What if Val just fed her more lies? What if Val sent more jarring dreams and memories? What if she didn’t, and Veronyka never, ever learned the whole truth?
And what if Val tried to take hold of Xephyra again? Veronyka knew it was possible, and she was more aware than ever of the complicated web that shadow and bond magic wove between her and the ones she cared about.
Like Xephyra. And Tristan.
Veronyka knew she had to protect herself, but she had to protect them most of all.
And the best way to do that—the only way she knew how to do that—was to block Val out completely. To block shadow magic completely.
To pretend neither existed.
But as Veronyka mounted up and headed back to the Eyrie—Tristan’s presence a warm glow in her mind and heart and Val’s a cold shadow that followed her everywhere she went—she knew that to block shadow magic was to block animal magic, to block Xephyra, and that was something Veronyka simply couldn’t do.
Soth’s Fury is a series of caverns named by the ancient Pyraean people who that believed the south wind—called Soth—was wicked and vengeful, blowing storms and chaos up into the mountains from the valley below. Only Soth could carve such deep, destructive paths through the mountain, creating shadowy places in the world where Axura’s light could not touch.
Soth was more superstition than true god, at least to the people of Pyra, and a product of lower rim communities who mingled more with the valley civilizations and their diverse, wide-reaching pantheon.
The word itself has similarly unknown origins, and most historians believe that the god may have been adopted from the mysterious Lowland civilization that was later wiped out by Lyra the Defender and her Red Horde after the Lowlanders tried to invade Pyra.
The tradition of naming nature gods is a popular custom of the Arborian people, possibly suggesting a unified ancestry with the Lowland civilization. For example, the people of Arboria pray to Nors, the fair north wind, for good weather and safe travel to this day.
—“Weather and Nature Deities,” from Obscure Gods and Goddesses of the Golden Empire, by Nala, Priestess of Mori, published 84 AE
There once was a girl born from a legacy of ash and fire.
Except she had none of it. How cruel to have such ancestors,
to have such a name, and yet possess no claim to any of it.
- CHAPTER 2 - AVALKYRA
AVALKYRA STARED AT THE remains of her fire.
She should have used it to cook her dinner or warm her hands. Something useful. Instead she’d used it to incubate another phoenix egg… and that phoenix egg had failed to hatch. Yet again. Now it was nothing but a cold, dead stone amid the ashes, like so many others before it.
It was the same egg she’d taken from the Eyrie, right out of that soldier’s satchel. Avalkyra had saved it for this place, for the ruins of Aura. Hoping, maybe, that it would make a difference. That something, or maybe even someone, would help her. But no. Avalkyra had to do everything herself. It had always been this way.
Avalkyra stood inside a vast, echoing chamber of some crumbling temple. There were pillars of carved marble standing like trees in an Arborian forest, their tall, wide trunks disappearing high above her, the ceiling canopy untouched by the light of her small fire. It might have been a holy place once, but now, like everything in Aura, it felt more like a tomb. There was no escaping that feeling, no matter if she stood in a bakery or a bathhouse—every building held that haunted, hollowed-out feeling.
If possible, outside was worse.
Though Avalkyra didn’t hold with superstition, the wind did howl through the buildings, lifting the hair on the back of her neck and causing strange echoes and moans. Dried leaves scattered, whispering across the ground, while the air still held the scent of ash and smoke and ruin.
Avalkyra took a deep, lung-filling breath. Then she kicked out, connecting with the egg and sending it flying into the shadows, where it ricocheted off the nearest pillar before tumbling down a short flight of stairs.
It sent up a delicious racket, piercing the endless, eerie silence, but Avalkyra didn’t feel satisfied. All she felt was the ache in her foot.
She pursed her lips, staring down at the remains of the fire again. Then she kicked the ashes and bones and smoking embers, too, covering herself in soot and fully dispersing the last evidence of her hours of hard work—and her failure.
Avalkyra straightened. Now she felt better.
Leaving that hallowed place, Avalkyra stepped out into the dark, ghostly ruins. An archway rose above her, one of hundreds sparkling with veins of silver and gold and standing at least twice her height and ten times as wide. They marked the footpaths in and out of the city’s main square, which featured columned entryways and ornately carved facades excavated from the rock of the mountain, appearing like gemstones from the raw, jagged surroundings.
Contrary to popular belief, Aura could be reached on foot. Not everyone in ancient Pyra had a phoenix, and the early settlers had lived here long before they had flaming firebirds. The landscape was steep and dangerous, and that was why the ancient Pyraeans had built roads inside the mountain. There were endless tunnels all over Pyrmont, from the highest peaks down to the Foothills. They didn’t all connect—at least not anymore, after centuries of neglect and cave-ins—but Avalkyra had found them during the Blood War. Some could be accessed by caves or mines, others through fallen arches and crumbling doors like those that dotted the Sekveia. The empire had searched for her secret lairs for years, necks craned to the sky, and never thought to look below their feet. Her bases were never found; her defenses never breached.
Well, not by soldiers. There was one person who had managed to find her there… but she was no warrior.
The paths inside the mountain had been dark and treacherous, but Avalkyra had had old maps to guide her and rope to climb with. It had taken weeks, but then she was here, standing among these fabled ruins.