Veronyka ran her hands absently through Val’s silky red hair, which was in desperate need of care. Knots and tangles had formed among the loose strands, and many of her braids were sloppy and growing out. They had to be periodically redone, so that the heavy beads and keepsakes didn’t fall out, and since Pyrean hair was straight and shiny, treated with wax or oil for better grip. Unless Veronyka did it for her—and even that was something Val barely tolerated—her sister was completely uninterested in washing, brushing, and caring for her hair.
While Val’s deep red shade was prized among their people, like the fiery plumage of the sacred phoenix, Veronyka’s hair was common black. It was a bit shorter than her sister’s, but dressed similarly with plaits accessorized with charms and colored thread. They even had a few matching braids, and sometimes Veronyka liked to seek them out, to remind herself of all they had shared, despite their differences.
She found the pearlescent shells from the time both girls had learned to swim with their maiora in the Fingers, the network of rivers that split from the Palm and snaked past the capital city. The entire system of rivers was called the Godshand, fed by the River Aurys, which began atop Pyrmont and split in the valley to spread across most of the empire. Their grandmother said that all Pyraeans should learn to swim in the Aurys, the river of their homeland, and that the water of the Fingers was as close as they were going to get.
After weeks of practice, young hearts full of determination, both Veronyka and Val swam to the opposite bank of the fattest Finger, collected a shell from the pebbled shore, then swam back. Val had been fastest, of course, but for once she hadn’t made Veronyka feel lesser because of it. They’d both sat on the riverbank afterward, faces glowing and teeth chattering, while their maiora braided the shells into their hair.
With a wistful sigh, Veronyka put the shell-capped braids aside and located the wooden beads they’d carved and painted by hand during their first night spent in Pyra, and next to those, the strips of cotton they’d twined into their hair, dipped in ink and ash to commemorate their grandmother’s death.
Each braid marked a memory of their lives together, woven in a living tapestry, forever binding them.
When Val’s breathing turned steady, Veronyka released her hair, sat up, and crept toward the fire. Quietly she picked through the embers at the edge of the hearth, the phoenix watching curiously. Veronyka saw flickers of its mind through their bond—a series of sights, sounds, and sensations—that made the world around her feel brighter and more interesting. The phoenix was too young to form any real thoughts or reflections, but already its presence was reassuring to her.
When she found what she was looking for—parts of curving, jagged phoenix shell—Veronyka carefully selected a piece that wasn’t too sharp. Setting it aside, she found the small box of thread and wax that she used to maintain her and her sister’s hair. There was a wooden comb inside as well, plus twine, needles, a file, and other small tools. Veronyka unearthed the file, carefully wearing down the sharp edges of the eggshell, which was a good deal thicker than regular bird shells. Then she used a needle to carefully twist a hole through the thickest part, as she’d seen her grandmother do with the delicate river shells from the Fingers.
Finally, she pulled forth a chunk of loose hair from the nape of her neck. She wasn’t hiding it, exactly, but she didn’t want the braid to be too noticeable in case it made Val angry. Surely she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder that Veronyka had a bondmate and she did not.
For now.
According to Val, the bonding process began before the phoenix even hatched, which was why it was important to remain close during the entire incubation period. Each phoenix chose their bondmate before they entered the world, making a magical connection before a physical one. And for some reason the first phoenix had chosen her.
Veronyka worked hand-warmed wax through her hair before she began braiding, the familiar twisting motions soothing some of her remorse.
Val would forgive her—she always did. Soon the second egg would hatch, and everything would be right again. They’d raise their phoenixes together and become Riders just as their parents—and their grandmother—had been.
The thought lit a fire in Veronyka’s belly.
With phoenixes, she and Val would be able to travel all over the empire with ease. They’d have to be careful, of course, but soon they’d find others like them—phoenixaeres in hiding. The empire couldn’t have killed and captured them all. There had been hundreds once. And there would be hundreds again. Together, the Riders would be stronger, strong enough to help others, and they wouldn’t have to live in fear anymore.
And this time, if someone dared to knock Veronyka and Val’s door down and come after their loved ones, Veronyka would have the power to fight. What happened to their grandmother wouldn’t happen to anyone she cared about ever again.
Reaching the end of her hair, Veronyka tied off the braid with some twine, then carefully threaded the piece of shell into place with several more knots. She looked down at it, then at the phoenix pecking the ground next to her. Not just any phoenix, but her phoenix.
Smiling, Veronyka scooped up her bondmate and crawled back in next to Val. The phoenix brought more than just physical comfort; calmness settled over Veronyka like a warm blanket, and sleep descended at last.
She sat in a sunny room decorated with plush carpets, fine wooden furniture, and carved stone niches filled with scrolls. A library. Veronyka had never been in a library, or seen any room so fine, but in the dream she knew where she was; it felt like home.
Across from her was a girl. Veronyka didn’t know her, but she was familiar—she’d seen her in dreams before. Her dark hair was braided with finely made beads and sparkling jewels, and she frowned down at the table between them, her lips twisted in concentration as she stumbled through a scroll.
Dream-Veronyka loved her—affection swelled in her chest, amusement and fondness bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her, some well of emotion that wasn’t her own.This was someone else’s life she was seeing, someone else’s body she was inhabiting.
“What is ‘phoenovo’?” the girl asked exasperatedly. “It almost looks like ‘phoenix,’ but it has different letters on the end.”
“Remember your root words,” Veronyka found herself saying, her voice only slightly chiding—and definitely female. “If half the word looks like ‘phoenix,’ what does the other half look like?”
The girl paused for a moment, biting her bottom lip. “Ovo . . . ovo—egg!” she whispered, face alight with triumph. “So it’s a . . . phoenix egg?”
Veronyka nodded, her dream-self pleased with the girl. “They’re extremely rare and difficult to hatch. They symbolize life, but also death—it’s a cycle. That’s how they’re able to be reborn. . . . Death gives them life. If not carefully incubated in the ashes of the dead, they will draw life from elsewhere, including their own brothers or sisters, if necessary.”
“They kill one another?” the girl asked. “Their own siblings?” Her triumphant expression turned darker, warier, and the room around them grew colder.
Veronyka shrugged, but she had the sense that they were talking about more than just phoenixes. “They cancel each other out. A death for a life. It’s called balance, xe xie,” Veronyka said.