The Lost Kingdom of Fallada Book 5:
Flight of the Phoenix
Alicia Michaels
Tempest’s Fury
Copyright 2016 by Alicia Michaels
Edited by Melissa Ringsted (There For You Book Editing)
Cover Design by Kate Cowan (KC Designs)
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any manner whatsoever. Please respect the work of this author by not copying or reproducing their work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people living or dead is coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark of products or people used in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication use of these trademarks is not associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Flight of the Phoenix (The Lost Kingdom of Fallada, #5)
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
The Lost Kingdom of Fallada | Reading Order
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Prologue
MANY LIFETIMES HAVE passed since the Prophets of Fallada gathered at the Delelm Rocks, calling jointly upon their power to glimpse the future of our realm. As the Queen of the Faeries of Goldun, I have lived for many centuries. Often, memories become harder to recall the further behind me they are. Yet, the day the Prophets gathered all the kingdom’s royalty to deliver their prediction is one I will never forget. Standing before us in their hooded robes, their solemn eyes peering at us from deep in shadow, they told us of the dark times soon to come. Already, the spread of black magic through Witches and Sorcerers had begun stretching over our world like a dark stain—consuming anyone who dared risk tampering with the dark arts.
Seven royal daughters would become the salvation of Fallada, they told us. Each would bring with her a power all her own, as well as a unique personality needed to bring balance. As one, they would usher in a time of peace and prosperity, banishing the darkness to the depths from whence it came.
As the Prophets delivered the details of their visions, hope began to flare within my heart. The other kings and queens of Fallada smiled and murmured amongst themselves, anticipating the parts their daughters—some yet unborn—would play in the time to come.
Among us, there remained one who took the prophecy as the omen of her doom. Having known for quite some time that Queen Eranna of Mollac had lost her sanity to the horrors of black magic, I watched her closely while the revelation of a Phoenix among the royal daughters was revealed. Clutching the arms of her high-backed chair so tight her knuckles turned white, she observed the Prophets with narrowed eyes, her blood-red lips pinched into a grim line.
To her credit, she waited until the prophecy had been completely delivered before standing to speak.
“Your words make mention of a Phoenix,” she’d said, pacing before the Prophets, who stood watching her in solemn silence. “Have you seen which of the royal daughters this Phoenix might turn out to be?”
Stepping away from the others, one of the Prophets lowered his hood to reveal a long, wrinkled face and shaved head. Thanor—one of oldest and wisest of the Prophets.
“The abilities and destinies of each daughter shall be revealed in their own times, Your Highness,” he replied. “Not before.”
“How convenient,” Eranna snarled, crossing her arms over her chest. “While you idiots sit around speculating over which of these so-called ‘saviors’ of Fallada your daughter could be, you seem to have forgotten our kingdom’s tempestuous history with the Phoenix. Temperamental and unpredictable, they have often spelled out the doom of anyone who dared anger them. Is that what this new world order will ensure—that a Phoenix will rise with enough power to take all of Fallada into her hands?”
With wide eyes, Queen Xyla of Zenun turned to Thanor. “Queen Eranna’s question has merit. How do we know that this princess—whomever she may be—will not simply use her great power to begin a new reign of tyranny?”
“What frightens you more, Queen Eranna?” Thanor asked, never removing his sharp gaze from Eranna. “That the Phoenix could terrorize our kingdom, or that you would unable to manipulate or defeat her?”
Every eye in the room reverted to Eranna as she scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at the Prophet. “I’ll tell you what worries me ... that you Prophets seek to unseat the royals of Fallada and use our children against us to achieve your own aims.”
A second Prophet moved away from the silent cluster, snatching her hood away to reveal a face trapped in the visage of a young girl, despite her age having long ago surpassed half a millennium. Mystical tattoos covered her bald head, and the heavy brown robes she wore concealed a slight frame. Aefin—another old and wise member of the Prophet's order.
“You go too far!” she accused, her voice rising to boom and echo from the ceilings. “Long have we served Fallada while asking nothing in return. Prophets receive no payment and seek no rewards, nor do we claim homes as lavish as those you inhabit. To insinuate that we covet power or position is an insult that we will not bear lightly.”
“Enough!” thundered High King Endroth, rising from his place at the head of the table. “I am certain our Queen of Mollac did not mean to offer insult. The notion of a Phoenix living amongst us again after so many years is a daunting one. As her majesty pointed out, their shifting moods cannot be controlled.”
“We cannot control time, yet we trust it to continue moving forward,” I interjected, rising to my feet.
Despite keeping my voice low, a hush fell over the room. Smiling, King Endroth extended a hand toward me.
“Queen Adrah, do you have more to say? Please, grace us with your wisdom. You have yet to steer us wrong in your counsel.”
Rising from my place at his side, I placed my hand in his, allowing him to kiss the moonstone ring upon my right hand. Clearing my throat, I paced to stand near the Prophets, resting one hand upon Aefin’s shoulder to calm her anger.
“Wind and rain are fickle elements,” I continued. “Yet, we coexist with them, enduring storms as they pass. So can we coexist with a Phoenix in our midst. Inside this princess—whomever she might be—burns the fire of one of the most powerful creatures in the universe. Yet, the heart beating within her chest will be the heart of a princess. Who she becomes rests entirely upon the shoulders of her parents. We must endeavor to treat all our royal children with care and love—while guiding them in the ways of benevolence and leadership. Yes, the heart of a Phoenix can be cruel and fickle ... but when it beats inside the chest of a person who feels compassion toward others, the fierce nature of the creature becomes one of protectiveness and loyalty. She might become one of Fallada’s most avid prote
ctors.”
“Well said!” chimed King Eldalwen of Damu. “It will be our burden to raise the princesses to be aware of their destinies, as well as their importance to Fallada’s future. If we endeavor to do that, there is nothing to fear.”
“There is much to fear,” Eranna argued. “Precautions must be taken to prevent the Phoenix from overthrowing us all.”
Sadness filled me to see what black magic and consorting with Witches had done to Queen Eranna—a woman I once considered a friend. She’d become paranoid, convinced that everyone around her coveted the power she had worked so tirelessly to harness.
“There is nothing that can be done to stifle the nature of the Phoenix,” Thanor retorted. “To attempt to do so will make her wrath a certainty once her power has been unlocked—and unlocked it shall be. No Phoenix has ever died without discovering the fire that lives within them. You can do nothing to avoid it.”
“We can watch the girls for signs,” offered Queen Xyla. “It cannot hurt to at least be aware of which among them will become the Phoenix. Perhaps diligence taken in educating and preparing her for her future will be enough.”
“And if it is not enough?” Eranna challenged. “I say we must do more.”
“Are you suggesting we harm her?” I countered. “I find such a suggestion unnecessarily cruel, even for you, Eranna.”
“I am suggesting we protect ourselves from the threat while we are still able,” she hissed, narrowing her eyes at me.
“And if the Phoenix should turn out to be one of your own daughters?” King Eldalwen interjected, raising his eyebrows. “What then, Your Highness?”
The dark queen turned her dead, black eyes to Eldalwen and curled her upper lip. “Then I will do whatever is necessary.”
“Have a care, Your Highness,” Aefin warned. “To prevent the prophecy from taking place will spell the doom of Fallada. Ensuring that they each take their rightful places when they come of age is the only way to save it.”
“I reject such a notion,” Eranna screamed, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. “Together, the royals of Fallada are more powerful than anything that would seek to destroy us!”
“You might have been, once,” Thanor stated. “However, a dark presence weakens you tremendously, even now. In ten to twenty years, your former glory will cease to be what it once was. Have a care, Your Highness, or you might find your realm overtaken and ruled by another.”
Eranna’s voice rose to echo ominously through the chamber as she turned with a swish of her cape, stomping toward the open doors. “I will hear no more of this. The rest of you might see nothing wrong with allowing such a creature free reign in our realm, but I will not stand by and allow it to threaten everything I have worked to build.”
Pausing in the doorway, she leveled a narrowed glare at the Prophets.
“And Mollac is mine!”
It took me months of working with my scribes, The Brothers Grimm, to decipher which of the seven princesses of Fallada the Phoenix might be. The Daughter of the Red Dawn, princess Eladria, proved easiest to determine, as her part of the prophecy heralded a blood-red sky—an occurrence brought about each century by the eldest daughter of Damu. The long-awaited rise of the tide could only be brought about by a child of Zenun, and before long we realized it must be Princess Phaedra who would someday wield the power of her father’s trident. One by one, we ruled out every possibility until we arrived to an inevitable conclusion. Princess Desdemona of Mollac—Eranna’s own daughter—would someday rise as the powerful Phoenix.
Fearing what Eranna might do if she discovered Desdemona’s hidden power, Wilhelm, Jacob, and I began formulating a plan to extract the young princess from her mother’s grasp. After murdering her own husband, Eranna’s lust for power only grew and swelled, causing her to become the rapidly growing threat foretold by the Prophets. It became clear that Eranna would usher in the dark times we so feared—an eventuality that could not be avoided.
I am certain you know what happened next. Yes, my friend, just before we could rescue the girl from her mother’s clutches, all seven of Fallada’s princesses vanished, sent away from our world by Eranna to prevent them from fulfilling their destinies. Our mission then shifted, becoming all about recovering our lost princesses and restoring them to their homes, so that they might take their rightful places and bring peace to the realm. In our search, we discovered that Eranna had kept Desdemona hidden away, out of my sight and reach.
It became clear to me that the dark queen intended to harness Desdemona’s power for herself, ensuring that the Phoenix could be used as a weapon—hers to control and manipulate.
Now, we stand on the precipice of all-out war, as six of the lost princesses have been united for our cause. The prophecy has begun to unfold, with many victories being claimed by our side. However, in the balance, the fate of the Phoenix has always hung uncertain. As willful and unpredictable as legends claim, the Phoenix fights the influence of others, choosing to travel her own path. At times, this has brought Princess Desdemona heartache, yet it has also caused her to discover a strength within herself, a might beyond anything she would have ever imagined.
As we loom on the brink of the final battle between the forces of light and those of darkness, the whims of a fickle Phoenix will tip the scales in one direction or another. Despite my desire to help and guide the Princess of Mollac, I find myself at an impasse. Poisoned against me by her mother, Desdemona has little love or trust for me.
From where I dwell in the Fae City of Goldun, all I can do is watch and wait, praying to the gods that good will triumph over evil.
Chapter One
MOLLAC, FALLADA
Her wings beat against currents of snowy wind, her vibrant, multi-colored plumage the only splash of color against the harsh, wintery landscape. There had been a time when Mollac—the Western region of the realm of Fallada—proved to be one of the loveliest places in the universe. With soft, powdery snow, icicles catching the light of the sun and reflecting them in rainbow prisms, and winter flowers in full bloom, it had been a crystal wonderland. Princess Desdemona Ravenmoore had grown up watching white roses bloom from her balcony, while observing the Fox and Bear shifters at play, and the Werewolf packs on the hunt.
Now, as she flew toward the castle known as Semran Hall, none of the familiar sights could be seen. No flowers, no Shifters playing or Wolves hunting. No sun—as gray clouds had long since blotted it out, leaving a dingy stain upon the hard, icy snow. Jagged icicles hung from the barren limbs of the trees.
There were, at least, still the roses here and there—the enchanted blooms her parents had planted in the castle courtyard to commemorate her birth. They’d spread to adorn Mollac from corner to corner, the white flowers blossoming constantly. Nearing the castle gates, she noticed several clusters of the red roses her father had planted to celebrate bringing her adopted sister, Jocylene, into their family. Having been found abandoned among the Delelm Mountains, Jocylene had been brought to live at Semran Hall. It was a time in her life that Desdemona hardly remembered, having been little more than a baby herself.
For years, not a single red rose bloomed in Fallada. They’d all shriveled up and died the moment Eranna had sent Jocylene to the realm of men, where she’d stashed the other five royal daughters with hopes that they’d never be found. However, her sister’s return had heralded the resurgence of the vibrant blossoms, which now grew alongside Desdemona’s white blooms.
Hope lifted her spirits at the sight. When last she’d seen her sister, Jocylene had been dying from the poison of a Werewolf bite. Her only hope had been the healing powers of the Fae, yet they’d remained the captives of Kalodan, the Dark Fae leader who held the underwater city of Zenun captive in her mother’s name. They’d been separated just before Desdemona was killed for the second time, her blood drained to use in some nefarious ritual. She’d closed her eyes in a dungeon, and opened them again as her body rose from her burial site—reborn, and renewed.
If the red roses still bloomed in Fallada, then perhaps all hope was not lost. Her sister might still live. Desdemona could only hope that Jocylene had somehow found her way to Goldun, the realm of the immortal Fae, and remained safe there. Perhaps it was not too late for her to start being a real sister to Jocylene. So much time had been lost, while she hid away from the world and avoided becoming involved in the conflict between her mother, Queen Eranna, and the Fae Queen, Adrah.
It could not be too late. Her part of the prophecy had yet to take place. She was the Phoenix that had been foretold—the one who would rise from the ashes and turn the tides of the war brewing in Fallada. She could not say how she knew for certain, but somehow Desdemona realized where her destiny lay. The stronghold of Mollac had been an asset for her mother thus far, her iron-clad fortress impenetrable by the Fae. The allegiance of many of Mollac’s Shapeshifters had bolstered her defenses, turning the west into a dangerous place to be found if you did not swear allegiance to Queen Eranna.
Not anymore, Desdemona decided as she began to descend, swooping toward the castle and the balcony jutting out from her personal chambers.
Morphing back to her usual form, she stood on two legs just outside the double doors leading into the room she’d once inhabited. In truth, it had been a prison—a place for her mother to keep Desdemona beneath her thumb. She had sworn that no one would control her that way ever again. She had returned home to claim it for herself, not to go back to a life of ignorance and fear.
Despite having emerged from her ashes without a stitch of clothing, Desdemona remained heedless of the cold. The flames living within her were enough to keep her warm no matter the climate.
She was fire, and fire was her.
Finding the doors unlocked, she pushed them open and strode into the dark room. She lifted both her hands and produced flames from her fingertips. Extending a hand to her left, she threw a ball of fire into the hearth, setting the wood and kindling there aflame. Another wave of her hand lit every candle and brazier, suffusing the room in light and warmth.
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