Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

  “This war is not about Adrah versus your mother,” Zara admonished. “Perhaps, in a way, a part of it is. Once friends, they are now rivals, standing as counterpoints to each other. Darkness and light. Goodness and evil.”

  “No one as powerful as Adrah can possibly be all that good,” Desdemona argued. “Power corrupts even the purest of souls. I’ve seen it happen, and so have you.”

  “True,” Zara agreed. “Why do you think Adrah has remained in Goldun all this time? Do you not think she could end this war herself if she wanted to? She could have crushed your mother beneath her heel years ago, and ended it all.”

  “Then, why didn’t she?” she demanded, pounding one fist against the table and causing the china to rattle.

  She was becoming agitated, her skin starting to warm beneath her velvet and fur.

  “Because it is not her place to,” Zara countered. “The prophecy foretold that the daughters of Fallada would be our salvation. So, instead of interfering and cheating you out of a destiny that is rightfully yours, she does what she can to aid you all in coming to your true purpose.”

  “Why didn’t she stop my mother?” she whispered, her anger melting away and allowing helplessness to have its moment. “When she began dabbling in black magic, and destroying her life—my father’s life, Jocylene’s life, my life—why didn’t Adrah do something?”

  Zara’s face softened into an expression of sympathy, and she reached across the table to take Desdemona’s hand. “My dear, that is a question I have asked myself. As you know, your mother is responsible for my first death ... for the tragedy that tore me and my Kai apart. But the truth is, my destiny had always been to become one of Fallada’s most powerful Prophets. I cannot say that I would have become who I am if I hadn’t encountered your mother and lost the love of my life. Was it fair? Certainly not. Did it hurt? I still feel the pain of that loss every day. But we are all responsible for our own actions. As your mother’s friend, Queen Adrah tried to prevent her from going down this path. However, fate and destiny had something else in store for her, as well as your family. She made her choice, and now you must make yours. What sort of queen do you want to be? A selfish one who licks her wounds in solitude and laments those she thinks have tried to use her? Or a benevolent one who fights for her people and works to give them a vibrant future? Only you can decide, Your Majesty.”

  Desdemona nodded, wiping away the tears that had welled up and spilled over her eyelids. “I am not certain how to proceed without ruining everything they’ve already fought to accomplish. While they fought, I hid myself away. What can I offer them, when I still feel so uncertain and powerless? I have a castle, but no army. I do not even have the Eye of Mollac to show me what’s happening outside my own walls.”

  Removing her hood, Zara pushed their dishes aside, resting her arms on the table. Turning her palms up, she gave Desdemona a radiant smile.

  “Why don’t you let me become your Eye?” she offered. “Just for now. I am here ... I might as well be of use.”

  “You can do that?” she asked, wrinkling her brow.

  Zara laughed. “I can show others what I see, just as clearly as I see it. It is allowed.”

  Reaching out to place her hands in Zara’s, she forced herself to relax. “Thank you.”

  Tightening her fingers around Desdemona’s, Zara closed her eyes and fell silent. For a long while, she did not move or speak—did not even seem to breathe. The only sound that could be heard was that of the fire popping and crackling in the hearth.

  Suddenly, Zara’s eyes flew open, their depths glowing with a brilliant white light. With a gasp, Desdemona instinctively reared away from the light, but remained captive by Zara’s tight hold upon her hands. Then, a bright flash filled her vision, and she saw what the Prophet could see.

  The images and sounds assaulted her in a jumble too muddled to sort at first—just images and noise, voices clamoring to be heard. Then, they began to slow and move about like pieces of a puzzle being fit together. The muddled words started to make sense, becoming conversations between people she knew and loved.

  Seemingly as quickly as it had begun, it stopped, and Desdemona reared back into her chair, the wind knocked from her. Zara’s eyes returned to normal, the glow abating as she released Desdemona’s hands and sat back, watching her with raised eyebrows.

  “Well?” she murmured.

  Desdemona took a moment to sort everything she’d just taken in. Her head ached, and she was exhausted. Glancing over at the fire, she realized the flames had died down to glowing embers. What had seemed like seconds must have been an hour at least, maybe more.

  “My sister is alive,” she whispered, tears of joy springing to her eyes. “Jocylene survived the bite of the Werewolf.”

  Smiling, Zara nodded. “Yes.”

  “My mother has been incapacitated for now, but she will return soon ... as soon as she finds out what has happened here.”

  Folding her arms over her chest, Zara blinked, but remained otherwise silent.

  “The general and his contingent will try to stall it, but I know Mother. She will eventually learn that Mollac has been taken, and return home to reclaim it.”

  “Eliandes and Malachi are coming,” Zara reminded her. “With five hundred Fae Warriors gifted by Queen Adrah. The makings of a fine army, I say.”

  Desdemona shot to her feet, hope flooding her in a rush too fast to contain. “Yes ... yes, it is.”

  “So,” Zara prodded, coming to her feet as well, “what do you intend to do, Your Majesty?”

  “Ensure that Mollac is ready for the return of its disgraced former queen,” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “I want her properly welcomed when she arrives, with an army—Faeries, Werewolves, Foxes, Bears ... the people of Mollac united against her.”

  Giving her a knowing smile, Zara sank down to one knee before her. “I am here to serve you, my queen, in any capacity that you might need me.”

  Extending a hand to Zara, she shook her head. “No, you do not bow to me ... I bow to you. I could never have become what I am without you, Zara. If you wish it, I will give you a place in my council. My royal advisor.”

  “I am honored,” Zara replied. “And, I accept.”

  “Good,” Desdemona said, issuing a sigh of relief.

  She did not know what she would have done if Zara had refused her. It would be nice to feel as if she had a friend in Mollac. Now, she only needed to prepare herself for the arrival of a certain Bear Shifter named Malachi. Despite her best attempts, she could not quell the butterflies beating their wings in her belly at the thought of coming face-to-face with him again.

  He doesn’t love you, you idiot, she chastised herself, for what felt like the hundredth time.

  For once, she hoped her yearning heart would listen.

  Malachi Voran sat on a warm stone bench with the sun beaming down on his shoulders. Hunched forward with his elbows resting on his knees, he stared through his messy tumble of reddish-brown curls at the boy running and playing with the other children in the courtyard of Osbel Tower. Fae children mixed with those of Fallada’s refugees—Nymphs, Shifters, Satyrs, Fauns, Elves. Most had come to the Fae city to escape Eranna’s reach, just as he had come to ensure the safety of his boy.

  Leven had grown recently, the last of the roundness in his face beginning to dissipate. As he grew older, he began to look more and more like his mother. Danore had been pretty enough, though most might have thought her plain. A long face, rich brown hair, dark eyes. On Leven, her features became brooding and handsome. His son would draw the females to him in droves when he became a man.

  Such thoughts brought a smile to his face. A few months ago, he feared the boy would not live to see his seventh birthday. Now, he had hope that Leven would live a long and happy life.

  Hope.

  He’d never tasted it before Desdemona, and now that he knew its flavor, he wanted more of it. He wanted to hope that she might forgive him for whatever it was
he’d done to hurt her. She wouldn’t speak of it, but something had changed between them after he’d been injured by the bite of a Werewolf sent by Eranna to murder him. She’d nursed him back to health, and remained with him and Leven after he’d asked, yet she kept him at a distance.

  The fire and ferocity that he knew lived just beneath the surface of her skin had been hidden from him, and instead she showed him only an icy demeanor.

  Why had he allowed her to make him hope?

  It was dangerous, to wish she would look at him the way she once did, before she’d known who she was, before secrets and lies had ruined them. Still, he couldn’t help wishing that she might find it in her heart to love him. Gods knew he loved her. With a madness that defied all reason.

  Yet, how could she love him, when he had given her no reason to? He’d wounded her, and had no notion of how to mend what he’d broken.

  His son was safe in Goldun, and so was he. This should have been enough to content him. Yet, he couldn’t help hungering for more.

  A hand coming down onto his shoulder shook him out of his reverie, and he found Eliandes, the Panther Shifter, staring down at him.

  “A word, if you have a moment,” Eli said; his tone indicated that it wasn’t a request.

  The fine hairs on the back of his neck rose, the gravity of Eli’s words causing his animal instincts to respond. Something had happened.

  Rising to his feet, he found himself towering over Eli by an entire head. He also outweighed the other male by at least fifty pounds, but the Panther hardly seemed intimidated. Giving another glance over his shoulder to ensure that Leven remained occupied, he followed Eli away from the courtyard and toward a quiet corner of the garden.

  Turning to face him, Eli folded his hands behind his back. “There are many new developments, but only one of which concerns us at the moment. Princess Desdemona has taken over Queen Eranna’s throne, and situated herself at Semran Hall.”

  Malachi could not hide his shock. It would seem the timid, scared girl he’d once rescued had evolved completely. There had been a time she’d struggled to create a flame larger than her thumb. Now, she had claimed an entire castle. Pride swelled his chest.

  “This is wonderful news. Mollac has long been a stronghold for Eranna. If Desdemona rules, then perhaps the people can feel safe returning.”

  Eli nodded. “That is our hope. It is also why Queen Adrah has commanded you and I to accompany a unit of warrior Fae to Mollac to help bolster Semran Hall’s defense. We are to remain there in whatever capacity the new queen requires.”

  His blood rushed at the prospect of being near Desdemona again. “When do we depart?”

  “At dawn,” Eli replied. “I suggest you take the day to say good-bye to your son, and rest. The journey will be arduous, and I do not doubt we’ll face attacks from Eranna’s minions now that they’ve been flushed out of Mollac.”

  “Of course,” he countered. “I will be ready.”

  “Good.”

  Eli turned to walk away, but paused halfway down the stone path, turning back to give Malachi a curious glance. “Can I ask you something? It’s about your abilities.”

  Malachi shrugged. “Certainly.”

  He hesitated, his eyes darting as if he felt uncertain about what he wanted to ask. “Is it possible to perhaps ... make someone forget the way they feel about another person?”

  The question gave Malachi pause. He’d discovered his gift for manipulating memories as a young man, and had practiced it in different capacities for well over a decade. However, because no one in his family had ever possessed such a gift, and he knew no one else who could do what he did, his knowledge was limited.

  “I’m not certain I know what you’re asking,” he replied. “Are you asking me if I can make you stop loving or hating someone? Is that it?”

  Eli scowled, as if the question had made him uncomfortable. “Not me, personally ... someone else. Could you make her stop having feelings toward someone, without actually causing her to forget who they are?”

  He fought to keep his face passive as he realized Eli was talking about his mate. Whether inadvertently or on purpose, he had just revealed what he was truly asking.

  He wanted Malachi to break the connection Princess Jocylene seemed to have with General Rothatin. While he hadn’t been in Goldun long, he had sensed an unease in Eli whenever Rothatin came near his mate. Whenever it was mentioned that he had been the one to heal Jocylene, the male grew downright irritable. Perhaps it was because Rothatin seemed to possess an innate connection to the earth—and the earth was a part of Jocylene’s very nature. Or, perhaps there was more there that Malachi was not privy to.

  “The thing about memories, is that they leave an impression,” he began, trying to choose his words carefully. “Even when the memories are removed, the impression lingers. So, even though the person has forgotten something, they might experience a sense of recognition when they are confronted with something they should remember.”

  Eli wrinkled his brow. “What are you saying? That a person can never truly be made to forget or stop feeling?”

  Malachi shrugged. “I’m saying that even if I could make her stop feeling, I do not have the ability to sever the reason for the connection in the first place. I’m saying, she might always feel that pull, even if she can’t remember how or why she feels it.”

  Running a hand over his close-shaven hair, Eli scoffed. “Wonderful.”

  “Perhaps, you might try talking to your mate?” Malachi prodded. “I have learned through experience that deception and tampering with memories does more harm than it does good. You might think it could secure the thing you want most, but all it will do is drive her further away.”

  Eli leveled a glare at him. “I do not need your advice. I asked a question, and you answered it ... I would appreciate it if no one knows we had this conversation.”

  Malachi nodded, choosing not to react to the other male’s rudeness. He understood Eli’s struggle all too well, and could not fault him for his frustrations.

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  Without another word, Eli turned and continued down the path and out of sight. Leaning against a smooth, white pillar, he contemplated the exchange.

  He had done the right thing, steering Eli away from the obvious path of his thoughts. His abilities could be dangerous, which was the reason Eranna had wanted his allegiance in the first place. Having used them to subdue Desdemona, he knew how much havoc they could wreak. It had occurred to him, after Danore had died, to use them on his own mind. If he did not remember falling in love with Desdemona while still being mated to Danore, he did not have to experience the guilt eating him alive. If he didn’t feel anything toward Desdemona, then the pain would abate, and he could raise Leven alone and in peace.

  Yet, peace was the last thing he wanted. He wanted fire and heat, pleasure and pain, happiness and despair.

  He wanted the Phoenix.

  Chapter Four

  JOCYLENE GLANCED UP to find that her mate was still awake. For so long, they’d lay together in silence, so she hadn’t been sure. His breathing had become even and slow, his chest rising and falling steadily beneath her cheek. So slow and steady she had thought he slept.

  A soft, slow smile curved his lips as he met her gaze. “Still awake? And here I thought I’d properly put you to bed.”

  She laughed, wrapping an arm around his waist and snuggling closer. “You did ... I’m exhausted. I don’t want to close my eyes just yet. In a few hours, you’ll be gone. I just want to lay here and look at you.”

  His smile wavered, and he reached up to stroke a lock of hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “Part of me wishes you were coming, even though I understand the wisdom of keeping you here. We just found each other again.”

  “This is different,” she insisted. “We’re not being separated by force, and one of us isn’t dying. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  He remained silent, staring
down at her with an odd look in his eyes. Even though he didn’t speak a word, she could feel the uncertainty radiating from him in waves. Their mate’s bond had grown strong enough that she always knew where his mind was going, even when she couldn’t hear his thoughts.

  “What are you so afraid of?” she whispered. “I survived, Eli. I’m here ... I will always be here.”

  “Losing you frightens me more than anything else in the world,” he murmured. “It would mean I have nothing left to fight for.”

  Remembering the other Panther Shifter they’d encountered in Mollac—the one so similar to Eli in appearance, it was uncanny—she sat up, pulling the bed sheet up to cover her chest.

  “What about your family? You never talk about them.”

  With a shake of his head, he growled, low in his chest. “That’s because there’s nothing to talk about. My parents are dead. All I have left is Daxan, and we’ve never gotten along.”

  Inclining her head, she frowned. “Why not?”

  He shrugged, sitting up to face her. “Small things we fought over when we were boys, turned into big things once we became men. Petty arguments. Slights and insults. Over time we just drifted apart. I had no family until I found you ... and Michael, Vincent, and Grace.”

  Jocylene smiled. “They love you, you know. My foster siblings. They never had a father figure in their lives. I’m glad they could have that in you.”

  Reaching out, he grasped her upper arms in a tight but gentle grip. “And what about you? Do you love me, Joss?”

  His intensity struck her like a blow to the gut, the desperation in his gaze making her chest ache.

  “Of course I do,” she whispered. “Don’t you know, you’re the reason I fought so hard to survive? I would never leave you alone in the world if I could help it.”

  He nodded as if satisfied with his answer, before pulling her against him, crushing her mouth in a possessive kiss. His hold on her tightened, as if he feared what might happen if he let her go.