Heart of Flames Page 5

  Veronyka didn’t say anything, just sank onto a stool, trying to figure out how to broach the topic. Morra set aside the bowls of dough she was preparing for the morning baking and surveyed Veronyka, who was twisting her hands together nervously.

  “I think I could use something to warm me up. What about you?” Morra asked, glancing over her shoulder as she opened a container and dropped leaves into a teapot. She didn’t wait for Veronyka to answer, instead filling the pot from the still-hot kettle over the hearth and placing the steaming, fragrant pot before them. Thankfully it wasn’t Morra’s infamous pungent healing tea, but instead something that smelled sweet and floral. Morra filled their cups and leaned her crutch against the wall before easing into a seat beside Veronyka. They drank in silence for several moments.

  “Morra… you’re a shadowmage, aren’t you?” Veronyka asked, abandoning pretense.

  Morra glanced over her shoulder, but the place was deserted. Obviously people knew Morra was Commander Cassian’s top choice for interrogations, but Veronyka doubted many of them understood her gift or what it was called. As Veronyka’s recent research attested, it had historically been treated with a lot of fear and superstition, or ignored altogether, no matter that Nefyra herself had supposedly been a shadowmage.

  “And if I am?” Morra asked carefully.

  “The thing is… I am too.”

  Veronyka braced herself for anger, but Morra wore a grim, resigned expression. There was a whisper of magic against Veronyka’s mental barriers, but no push or intrusion. It was more questing, confirming… like an acknowledgment rather than an invasion. “I thought you might be. I wasn’t sure if you knew you were, though. There’s many that don’t. I sure didn’t, when I first started hearing other people’s minds as a child. Thought I was losing my mind instead.” She smiled cajolingly, and Veronyka nodded, surprised by the tears filling her eyes. Veronyka had known, thanks to Val, but the magic had never brought her anything but trouble.

  Well, that wasn’t true. Though it was fraught and dangerous, her link to Tristan had brought her a connection to another person more powerful than anything she’d experienced before. And now that she had no sister or grandmother… that bond was more than just a complication. It was like what she had with Xephyra.

  It was like family.

  “Hey, now, it’s all right, young one. It’s all right,” Morra murmured, pulling Veronyka into a hug. She smelled of cinnamon and fresh-baked dough, and Veronyka wanted to sink into her and disappear. “It’s a hard gift, there’s no mistaking it. And people often don’t understand. You were wise to keep it to yourself.”

  Veronyka pulled away, wiping at her eyes. “What do you mean?”

  Morra paused. “Well… besides the fact that many are suspicious of it,” she began thoughtfully, “it’s made more powerful by familiarity.” Icy dread slipped down Veronyka’s spine. She knew this, but hearing it confirmed was worse somehow. “It’s harder to control with the people you’re closest to,” Morra conceded, speaking slowly, as if carefully choosing each word. “It’s the same as animal magic in that regard. But if the people around you know you have it—it will be worse still.”

  “What? How?” Veronyka asked desperately.

  Morra sighed heavily, fiddling idly with her teacup on the table before her. “Do you remember when you first discovered you were an animage? Not when you were little, using your magic unconsciously. I mean when you knew you had magic and how it worked.”

  Veronyka paused, thinking of her first animal magic memory—in which Val set a snake on her to test her magic—but quickly banished the thought. Even then she hadn’t known what she was doing; she’d reached out and calmed the snake on instinct. “Okay, yes. I was probably around seven years old. I didn’t understand why this stray dog followed me everywhere, and my grandmother told me it was because of my magic.”

  “And did it solve the problem? Stop the stray from following you?” Morra pressed, and Veronyka began to see her meaning.

  “No… There were five strays following me the next day.”

  Morra nodded gravely. “That is often how it goes for young magelings. Animal magic is a social magic. It’s always reaching, seeking… and shadow magic is no different. Once we are aware of it, our mind can’t help but push out curiously, trying to test its limits. Did you experience something similar when you learned of your shadow magic?”

  Veronyka thought hard on that… and realized the first shadow magic dream she ever had was on the heels of Val telling her about her second, darker magical gift. The girls had been waiting outside a market stall while their maiora haggled, when Veronyka had overheard the vendor say that the fish was days old and about to turn. Or at least, she’d thought she overheard it. When she tugged her grandmother’s sleeve and told her the fish was bad, Val and her maiora had shared a knowing look. Apparently the vendor hadn’t said those words at all, but thought them. Later, Val told Veronyka the truth of what she was, and that night Veronyka had dreamed she was flying in a sky set on fire.

  “Yes,” Veronyka admitted. “So you’re saying that if I tell anyone…”

  “They’ll be more susceptible—especially if they are a mage themselves. Their senses will seek you out, will search for you even within the confines of their own minds. And if you both are reaching, the connection will be that much stronger.”

  Panic fluttered against Veronyka’s chest at Morra’s words. Her connection to Tristan was already too strong—it was a bond.

  “But knowing has to be better than not knowing in the end, right?” she pressed, trying to put words to what she was thinking. “Even though my magic was more out of control when I first realized I had it, it eventually got stronger because I knew about it. Surely a trained animage—or shadowmage—is more capable than an untrained one, and you can’t be trained without knowing about your gift. Wouldn’t telling someone be the primary step in making them more resistant?”

  Morra tapped her fingers against her lips thoughtfully. “Not sure anyone’s ever tried to teach a person without shadow magic how to defend against it. You’d have to be a shadowmage to do that, and what shadowmage wants to weaken themselves in such a way?”

  “This one,” Veronyka muttered. “I hate shadow magic.”

  Morra dropped her hand. “I understand, but I’m afraid it’s up to you, Veronyka. To hone your gift. Sharpen it. Then you need not worry about using it by accident against someone you care about.”

  “Could you teach me? How long would it take?” Veronyka said eagerly, but Morra gave her a sad, pitying look.

  “It took me twenty years to get to a place where I didn’t fear my magic getting away from me, and I’m still learning. I also happen to think your magic is stronger than mine, given the way you’ve tricked me in the past, young and untrained as you are.”

  Veronyka lowered her gaze, disappointed but also slightly guilty. She wasn’t entirely untrained, though most of what Val had taught her was piecemeal and meant only to hold her back. Veronyka had learned some things through observance and others in self-defense, but it still wasn’t enough. And she didn’t have twenty years, not with Val on the prowl and her bond to Tristan getting stronger every day.

  “Chin up,” said Morra, laughter in her voice. “There’s no shame in outwitting me—and you wouldn’t be the first. Avalkyra Ashfire was a shadowmage. I’m sure of it. The way her patrol obeyed her, the way they flew in battle… There was more to it than mere chemistry. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew the truth of her ability—it would have made her control over them nearly complete.”

  Unease boiled in Veronyka’s stomach. She’d wavered so long in telling Tristan about her magic, and now that she was trying to muster the courage to do it, she was realizing that she couldn’t. The thought of making their bond stronger when her control was so erratic? She couldn’t do that to him. She had to lie if only to protect him.

  It occurred to Veronyka that Val had probably told her about her shadow magic for t
he very same reason Veronyka wasn’t telling Tristan: She’d wanted to make Veronyka more completely under her control. She’d hounded Veronyka to guard her mind and not project her thoughts, but she’d done nothing to help Veronyka protect herself from Val’s influence. Her dark mood plummeted even further at the thought.

  “What if I didn’t use it at all?” Veronyka asked, a flicker of hope kindling in her chest. She’d already suspected that the best way to protect herself and those she was bonded to was to pretend she didn’t have this kind of magic at all—and Morra had basically just confirmed it. The problem was, she didn’t know how. “What if I blocked it completely? There must be a way to do that without blocking my animal magic. And the less I use shadow magic, the weaker it will get, right?”

  “Pretending something doesn’t exist doesn’t make it go away,” Morra said warningly, but she saw the shining desperation in Veronyka’s eyes. “The thing is, there are side effects to blocking out magic, Veronyka. It can come out when you least expect it, no matter how well you close it off, and you weaken your ability to detect and deal with it properly when you do. It’s a muscle. If you ignore it, you weaken it. If you do not use your legs, eventually they will atrophy, and there may come a time when you need to run for your life—and you will not be able to.”

  “But shadow magic isn’t life and death,” Veronyka said, but Morra did not seem to agree. She frowned, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Please, Morra?” Veronyka begged.

  Morra sighed. “How do you imagine your magic?” she asked, leaning back and wrapping her hands around the warm mug. “How do you see it in your mind?”

  Veronyka was surprised by the question, but eager at the prospect that Morra might be willing to teach her after all. She thought for a moment. “I see it like a river, and my mind is a stone tower in the center of the rush. If I want to protect myself, or block out the chatter of people and animals, I shore up the stones, reinforcing the walls so no water—or magic, I guess—gets through. It used to work for me, but…” She shrugged, avoiding Morra’s eye. She didn’t want to explain what was happening between her and Tristan—that there were doors in her stone tower—if she could help it.

  “One river, for both animal and shadow magic?” Morra asked, and Veronyka nodded. “Well, that’s part of the problem right there. It’s two rivers.”

  “Two rivers…,” Veronyka repeated, rocking back slightly in her chair. “But whenever I open myself up to animals, humans get in too.”

  “That’s because of the way you’ve trained yourself to understand it. Your mind shapes the magic, not the other way around. It’s no wonder you’re having such trouble. Up here,” she said, tapping her own temple, “I’ve got a fine Pyraean house with red shutters and a domed roof, and two dusty roads on either side: one for animals, one for humans. You need to separate the two in your mind, learn to tell the difference between them. Do that, and blocking out one and not the other should be relatively easy—not that I’d recommend it,” she added sternly. “You will have to face it eventually, Veronyka, and I fear you will not be well equipped when you do.”

  But Morra didn’t understand. Veronyka wasn’t dealing with the usual kind of magical influence—loud rooms and crowds of strangers. She had two human bonds, and the web that was tangling between them was too dangerous to let remain. If she could block out Val and Tristan, she’d never have to worry about Val intruding upon her mind or her own mind accidentally intruding upon Tristan’s. It was worth any sacrifice, worth any struggle she might one day face, to have safety and security now.

  Veronyka considered the possibilities as she toyed idly with her bracelet.

  It was more than just the bond, though. Val’s presence in her mind was more than just magic. Val was constantly in her thoughts, even when she wasn’t magically in her mind. Veronyka understood suddenly that she couldn’t block one without blocking the other. Val and shadow magic were intertwined in Veronyka’s mind, just like the rivers of her magic. She couldn’t block shadow magic but continue to think of Val, and vice versa; thinking of Val meant thinking about shadow magic—their link and their shared past.

  To let go of her magic, Veronyka would have to let go of Val, of the possibility of getting any answers about her past and her identity. It was a tough thing to swallow, but she would have to live with it. She hardly knew anything about the dead Phoenix Rider parents Val had invented for her all those years ago, so what was the difference?

  As for Val—or rather, Avalkyra—Veronyka didn’t know what to do with that information anyway. The Ashfires had lost the throne, after all, and the empire had changed. The Phoenix Riders were rebuilding, but was there room for a queen among them when they had suffered as much as anyone at the hands of the Ashfires?

  Until Val came forward and tried to stake her claim—which she no doubt had delusions of doing—Veronyka saw no reason to concern herself with it. Val had been Avalkyra Ashfire for sixteen years already, even if in secret, and all she’d tried to do was get a phoenix—and she had failed. As far as Veronyka knew, Avalkyra Ashfire was a ghost, just like the Feather-Crowned Queen. A shadow, a legacy… nothing that mattered now. The empire—the world—had moved on without her, and maybe Veronyka needed to as well.

  The Ashfires were a part of the past—and so was Val. Maybe Veronyka needed to leave her there. What good was it to dwell on a past she couldn’t change, on an identity she couldn’t know? She would block her shadow magic, bury it down deep, and do the same with Val, too. With all of it.

  Distantly, a bell chimed the watch change, and Veronyka got to her feet. “Thanks, Morra. For helping—and for not yelling at me.”

  Morra chuckled, but her amusement faded as she considered Veronyka. In a gesture Veronyka could only describe as motherly, the woman reached out and tucked a strand of Veronyka’s now chin-length hair behind her ear. “It’s difficult being special—” she began, but Veronyka immediately cut her off.

  “I’m not special.”

  Morra dropped her hand and rolled her eyes, all motherly tenderness gone. “Different, then. But you are, Veronyka. And when you finally figure it all out, well… you’ll be something fierce.”

  Despite the stress and the worry and fear, Veronyka couldn’t help it—she grinned.

  But it was in that darkness that the girl learned to find

  her own way in the world. To find her own strength.

  That girl, daughter, was me.

  - CHAPTER 5 - ELLIOT

  ELLIOT WALKED THE STRONGHOLD alone.

  He was used to being alone these days, so utterly at ease with closing himself off from everything and everyone that the thought of actually being a Rider again—of laughing and training and sleeping next to his fellow apprentices—filled him with something close to dread.

  Of course, Elliot had been alone long before he’d been exposed for spying on the Riders. He’d been alone since the day that man, Captain Belden, showed up at his front door and made plain the conditions upon which Elliot would be allowed to become a Rider in the first place—and all it would cost him and his family if he failed.

  And he had failed. His father was under constant watch from whoever had been pulling Belden’s strings, and his sister…

  Elliot squeezed his eyes shut.

  A low croon reverberated in the back of his mind, thrumming through the bond, just as a similar throaty sound emanated from the beak of the creature flying above him.

  Jaxon. Elliot sighed, glancing up at his phoenix. Sometimes he forgot that he was never truly alone, despite how it felt. He did have a bondmate, for better or—as he’d come to think of it lately—worse. Jax deserved more than a bondmate who was filled with self-loathing and constantly moping about. He deserved better than a Rider who was never allowed to actually ride.

  Jax continued to try to bolster Elliot through their connection, though his positive mood flickered and faltered, reminding Elliot that every bleak, sour thought that crossed his own mind took up residence in his bo
ndmate’s head as well.

  Elliot clenched his fists, guilt twisting his stomach. Everything—he made everything worse. For his family. For the Riders. For his own damned bondmate.

  Walking with his shoulders hunched, Elliot passed beneath the stronghold gate under the watchful eye of the guards stationed above, then through the dark village, pools of golden light emanating from the windows of the modest houses, where the families that grew the crops and worked as guards and servants enjoyed the quiet evening hours together.

  Elliot felt their hatred, their wariness of him, even as he knew he moved as a shadow, barely seen or noticed. He’d been forgotten. Written off. A traitor, a betrayer, but a scorpion without its sting. Belden, the man he’d reported to, was dead, and Elliot’s duplicitous ways had been exposed. Those first few weeks, Beryk had watched Elliot’s every move, but it soon became clear Elliot had no intentions of resuming his role as a spy, plus no ability to do so besides—his access to important information was nonexistent, and his contact with the messenger pigeons completely cut off.

  After some time had passed, Elliot had mustered the courage to plead on Jaxon’s behalf and had earned this small freedom: He was allowed to escort his bondmate outside the village each night, where Jaxon could fly in peaceful solitude over the rolling plains of tall summer grass while Elliot watched him from the ground.

  It wasn’t like flying together. It was nothing of that same exhilaration and unity, that blissful emptiness that took over Elliot’s mind and made it all about the here and now, the movement, the flight. But it was something.

  As soon as Elliot cleared the village walls—still smelling of fresh lumber and paint, even weeks after the attack—the tightness in his shoulders eased slightly. Jax soared higher, up into the stars, and Elliot stood alone, hands in his pockets.

  Out here, he was alone in the good way—away from suspicious eyes and judgmental scowls. The grass had grown over the scorched and churned-up earth, so he could almost forget that when the soldiers had come to kill them all, he’d been on the wrong side. He’d given the soldiers the information they needed to plan their attack, to avoid the patrols, and to all but seal their victory over the Phoenix Riders, over everyone Elliot had come to know and respect.