“That is good to hear. You were invaluable in our investigations prior to the Blood Sun Solstice.”
She snorted. As the Iron Phoenix, perhaps, but as Nadya Gabori she contributed little but to disagree with her grandmother in the reading of truth in others. It was the guise she wore, pretending to have a psychic gift like every normal Nomori woman, using her enhanced hearing to detect dishonesty.
“You mean to keep my grandmother from ranting about Nomori culture being watered down?”
“A definite bonus to your incredible skills,” Marko said. “I considered asking Madame Gabori for her assistance in this matter—”
“For half a moment,” Kesali added.
“Less than that, I think.” Marko shrugged. “We will keep her in reserve, our secret weapon against Wintercress should it come down to such extraordinary measures.”
“Let us all pray that it doesn’t,” Nadya muttered. She meant it too. Being in a room with Drina Gabori, powerful empath and matriarch of the family, was the last thing she wanted. Her mother had probably divulged her secret, willingly or not, and Drina Gabori was nothing if not a staunch Nomori traditionalist.
Her father risked a lot, continuing to see and train her as he did, she knew.
“It might. Our talks with Wintercress are difficult at best and may become disastrous at worst.” Kesali sighed. “To be blunt, we need to know whether we are being lied to or not. Lady Aster, Councillor to the High King of Wintercress, appointed ambassador, and arrogant prick—”
“Not something we should call the woman who controls whether or not we get the compound,” Marko cut in. “Especially since we just met her.”
Kesali rolled her eyes, muttering, “But it is true.”
“Aster?” Nadya frowned. “She is in charge?”
“Yes, the official dignitary sent by Wintercress to help us in this trying time.” Kesali grimaced, her voice betraying her cynicism. “She is here one afternoon and already has the upper hand in every conversation. She was born to this kind of thing, and I am still trying to find my way. Worse, she knows it.”
“You can hold your own,” Marko said. “As much as any of us, at least. She is skilled. She left my father dizzy after an hour-long bout of political nonsense.” He looked to Nadya. “He has been saying that I may take an advisor in this, and with the councillor now here, I’d like that to be you.”
“An advisor?” She nearly choked on the word. “To you?”
“Gods, yes. You’re smart, and you’re honest.”
If only you knew…
“And you can sense honesty in another. I need someone I can trust, someone who can tear through all the niceties and smiles and gods-cursed political theatrics and get at the truth. You’ll be compensated, of course, which should help…you know…” He gestured around.
“Marko.” Kesali gave Nadya an apologetic smile, but her eyes held more. Although they had not spoken since the solstice, she could no doubt guess why Nadya was suddenly living in a decrepit building in the second tier. She could offer nothing with Marko in the room, but Nadya was grateful enough for the stemming of his inquiries.
“Sorry, yes, you’ll be compensated.” He drew a breath. “Anything you want, short of food and clean water, because that’s the one thing our city does not have at the moment. If emeralds and sapphires were edible, our people would not be starving.”
“If we had clean waters, we wouldn’t have the starvation,” Kesali added. “No workers to start everything up again, and no trade, except Wintercress, damn them, because everyone is afraid of catching the scouring sickness. Wintercress holds the compound for purifying the water system from whatever demon spawn entered it in the wake of the solstice, and because of that, Councillor Aster can crack a whip above our heads at any moment.” Kesali’s mouth was a tight line. “We have another meeting tomorrow. I am just waiting for her to start making demands, and when that happens, we may be powerless to refuse them.”
“All the more reason we need you,” Marko added. The joviality had left his tone.
She swallowed back a bit of panic at his faith in her pretend abilities, though Kesali was looking at her just as imploringly, and she knew the truth. “Of course I will.” There was never a question, not when it came to helping Kesali and, by extension, the city itself. “You need me tomorrow?”
“Yes, by the gods, thank you, Nadya.” Marko’s shoulders sank, as if finally loosened. “You do not know what this means, having you on our side during these negotiations.”
She felt the tingle of a blush, hoping to live to up his faith. “I will do what I can.” As Nadya Gabori, not the Iron Phoenix. Maybe there is a way to make a difference here, without putting people in danger.
“You always do,” Kesali said. “And now, Marko, that we’ve successfully skipped out on a trade briefing”—she made a face—“and recruited a new advisor, could you wait outside for a moment? I need to speak with Nadya alone.”
Nadya’s pulse tripped over itself.
Marko just smiled. “Of course. I’ll be just outside the door. Don’t take too long, though. We do need to be getting back before the Guard launches a search.”
The instant he closed the door, Kesali’s posture changed. She sank down, the weight of the past months suddenly evident. “Stars, it’s good to see you. I feel like I’ve been floating through a dream since the solstice, that everything in my old life disappeared that morning.” Kesali sighed, and she looked like she had aged a decade since the solstice.
Nadya wished to hold her but kept her distance. “You have a city to protect.”
“A city I put in danger.”
“That was not your fault,” Nadya began, but Kesali cut her off.
“Was it not? I gave the zealot and his followers everything they needed to throw the city into chaos.” Kesali shook her head. “And don’t try to convince me otherwise. We almost lost the city in the floodwaters. My prophecy about the storm was self-fulfilling. A corrupt magistrate gave barrels of gunpowder to a madman, and he blew a hole in the wall. Had I not ever uttered that prophecy, the zealot might not have garnered the following he did, and more of our people would still be alive. I relied on the Protectress to bring winds and sun to scour the floodwaters away, but in the end it was the work of evil men that brought my prophecy to bear. Now, something new threatens Storm’s Quarry, and I will not stand by and pray, and let the same happen again.”
The zealot’s actions were as much your fault as the massacre at the Duke’s address was mine, she wanted to say, but bringing that cloud of ugliness into this conversation would ruin the first chance she and Kesali had had to speak in months. After a moment of hesitation, Nadya set a hand lightly on Kesali’s shoulder. She leaned into Nadya’s touch, half closing her eyes and exhaling. Nadya murmured, “Anything I can do?”
“You have done much just agreeing to help Marko and me.” Kesali smiled at her. “I really cannot thank you enough.”
“It’s fine.” Nadya’s mouth went dry. The words were there; as painful as they were, she needed to say them. “I—I owe the city a lot. I hurt so many people without meaning to.” So much for leaving it out. “This is one way of atonement. As Nadya, and not…”
The Iron Phoenix, the figure who stood between them like a wraith.
A long moment passed in silence, and Nadya cursed herself for bringing it up.
“You do not need to atone for the sins of the Iron Phoenix,” Kesali said quietly. She did not look at Nadya.
Her throat tightened. What did that mean? Could she truly pretend that putting on the cloak made her another person, that Nadya Gabori did not share an identity with the vigilante? Before she could come up with a response that did not threaten tears, Kesali spoke again.
“Remember that, Nadya, if nothing else. I’m afraid I need to go. Marko will likely be impatient to return to the palace.” She squeezed Nadya’s hand. “I hope to see you soon. I know it’s been a while—my duties took me away in the wake of the solstice.�
�� She leaned closer, her breath hot against Nadya’s ear. “I nearly forgot how wonderful it feels to spend time with you. I…I hope it can happen again.” She withdrew and, drawing her hood up, disappeared out the door.
“Me too,” Nadya whispered. She smiled in spite of herself. Perhaps…perhaps things could go back to the way they were before the Phoenix, before the city’s fate balanced on the edge of a rapier. If Kesali saw past the Iron Phoenix and saw only Nadya, maybe that was for the best. Maybe the happily ever after of stories would find her.
*
The searing heat of the smelting fire wrapped itself around Shay, bringing a sheen of sweat over the grime of the past week. She wiped her forehead. The rafter brace she’d been crafting finally took on the harsh angle her hammer had been pounding it into for the last thirty minutes. Hand wrapped in a protective blanket, she took the brace and submerged it in water. Steam billowed out, stinging her eyes.
Since arriving in Storm’s Quarry, her days had been filled with nonstop work, firing and shaping iron for the rebuilding that the city needed. Shay saw pretty quickly why the city’s Duke was so willing to pay dearly for workers and craftsmen from other nations: Storm’s Quarry simply did not have the manpower needed for the repairs. Half the city had succumbed to the scouring sickness, and the other half was starving, and although more caravans—all from Wintercress—had arrived, their supplies barely made a dent in the need.
They had been given quarters in a derelict building on the third tier, but both Shay and Jeta preferred to keep their belongings in the smithy where most of their time was spent. She sucked in a deep breath, tasting the sparks and the iron in the air. She had spent her childhood at the foot of furnaces and anvils, learning what made her different and harnessing that power. Now, it was here where she prepared to take her knowledge and ability into the night.
Her work done, she began to change clothes. No one else entered this far corner of the city’s smithy, not after Jeta made it very clear to some overeager Erevan youth that this was now her territory. Shay pulled on black leather pants and heavy boots. Over her soot-stained shirt, she pulled on a leather jerkin that came down to her knees, with slits up the sides for ease of mobility. Before she slipped on the black leather gloves, she ran two fingers along the edge of the fire pit. She smeared the ash around her eyes.
“New look for the city?” Behind her, Jeta dropped a load of fresh wood onto the dwindling pile.
Shay flexed her fingers. The leather was stiff, but strong. It better be; she had paid a hefty sum for the goods last year at a trade show in Wintercress. “You know me. I need to keep up with the latest fashions.”
“You’re going out tonight.” In Jeta’s steady voice, it was not a question.
Shay turned around. “You know I always do. It’s good training.”
“This city already has one of you running around after dark. Didn’t think it needed two.” Jeta set the forge hammer down. Behind her, the fires of the furnace hissed and spat, like a clutch of dragon young, hungry and impatient.
“Well, I have got to keep my skills sharp, and there’s an abundance of scum around here to clean up. Think of it as a perk the Duke’s getting for paying us so much.” She tried to crack a casual smile, but Jeta saw right through it.
“Digging around the past never ends well.”
Not for the first time, Shay wondered about the forgemaster’s past. When her family threw her out of Storm’s Quarry, condemned to death, Jeta had taken pity on the thin, crying girl, giving her a home and a purpose. In the ten years since, Shay had learned little about the woman’s past, and Jeta offered nothing. Only the scars that ran up and down her hands and arms, the scars of a lifetime of harsh work, spoke at all to the time before Shay joined her.
“I am not here to do that.” The half-truth tripped coming out of her mouth.
Jeta shrugged. It was not an argument either of them would win, and they both knew it. “The Guard here has little tolerance for foreigners and less for Nomori. I will not have the time to come and bail you out. And if this Phoenix character gets his hands on you, don’t think I will be there to rescue you.”
Shay smiled. She kissed the older woman on the cheek and left the smithy, saying, “Then I’d better be faster than all of them.”
Outside, the oppressive humidity brought only slight relief to the heat of the furnaces. Shay kept her eyes down as she merged onto the street, blending in with the crowds of people returning home. After exiting the railbox on the Nomori tier, she slipped away from the town square—Remember the parties and the chanting and the glow of being held by a mother?—and into the first alley she saw, behind a bakery. Surefooted, she climbed the piles of rubble and refuse until she reached the rooftop.
The damage the solstice had inflicted was most apparent on the Nomori tier. Pools of water, knee-deep in some places, dotted the streets and alleys. Clouds of disease-carrying insects laid claim to them, birthing brood after brood of parasites. Stones lay piled every which way as crews worked day and night to clear the fallen wall.
Shay turned her eyes deep into the Nomori tier. Ten years was a long time, but homes were handed down in Nomori families. If they still lived, they would be there. She turned away. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Ten years ago, a young girl felt a soft fire in her chest. She prodded it, and fire filled her hands, not burning her. Her sister, older by five years and gifted with the powerful psychic ability to read the true nature of things, touched the girl and saw the fire. She told their parents, whose faces turned into masks. Many words were exchanged between them, and in the end the little girl was taken to the end of the tier, to the deep culverts that lined the inner side of the great wall.
Ten years ago, a little girl who could control fire was supposed to die.
Shay began to run. The rooftops ran together here. With some agility, she jumped between them, the warm wind whipping her short hair about. Her breath came in large gasps, but the hearty pumping of her blood was invigorating. She had not completely lied to Jeta. This was something she needed, she craved. Training that came from the bite of the night.
As for the rest, Shay steeled herself for each step taken in the Nomori tier. Running across rooftops, conjuring fire, stars, even fighting off bandits seemed easier to her than what she had come to Storm’s Quarry to do. Six years after being taken in by Jeta, the forgemaster had told Shay of her nivasi blood, of how the Nomori handled these aberrations. The truth did nothing to change Shay’s mind. Giving a name—nivasi—and a purpose to her family’s betrayal did not absolve them of it. Not in her eyes. Although Jeta meant well by telling her the truth, the knowledge only increased her obsession with what had transpired years ago in Storm’s Quarry.
Years ago here. These streets. These people. My people.
She kept a wary eye on the surrounding rooftops. The gossip of Storm’s Quarry traveled quickly, and in the days she’d been here, she had heard quite a bit about the masked man who also prowled about at night. The Iron Phoenix, they called him, and depending on whom you asked and how many bottles of spirits they’d drunk, he was either hero or madman or murderer.
If there truly was another nivasi in Storm’s Quarry, another who’d slipped through the cracks of the Elders’ careful plans of elimination, then she would do well to be careful. Jeta’s warning rang in her ears.
The sounds of a fight broke the silence of the night, overwhelming Jeta’s stern voice. Shay stopped.
Looters, six of them. Wielding clubs and lengths of spiked chains. They looked Erevan in the lamplight. Shay watched for a moment as the assailants trampled down the door of a run-down Nomori home. Fools, if they thought to find clean water or food on the Nomori tier. But hatred was sown deep.
Screams echoed through the street. None came to assist. Shay scoffed. The Nomori liked to pretend they were one people committed to one another. She knew the truth. That commitment only went as far as needed to serve their own interests, whether it be to ignore the plig
ht of a neighbor, or to sentence a child to death.
With the Duke’s Guard stretched so thin, the looters had nothing to fear. They came out of the house carrying sacks and laughing. Shay slipped over the gutters and landed roughly. Her knees protested, but she ignored the pain.
Nothing to fear but her.
“Head home,” she said loudly. The looters turned away from the door. “You are done here.”
“And you’re the protection here, then?” one of them called back. He started casually swinging the chain he held. “You aren’t the Phoenix. Get out of here before things go badly.”
“Things will go badly. For you.” Shay held out her empty hands. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, that the fight was a risk she did not need to take. But the salt-tinged air of the Nomori tier weighed down upon her, and she needed to do something.
“I don’t think—”
Twin blades of white light appeared in her hands. Heat pounded up and down her arms as Shay fueled the light from her own life fire.
The looter fell back a few steps. “Gods, we’ll go. We didn’t mean anything wrong by it.”
Too late. She darted toward them. The first man swung his spiked chain at her head. Shay brought one of her blades up. It sliced through the iron like it was ice. The weapon clattered to the ground.
She swung again, dodging club strikes, and her blade cut through the man’s clothing, his flesh, his bone, and he fell, wordless in death.
The others tried to run away, but her weapons caught two of them in an instant, severing their legs. Then their spines. She chased after the remaining three, herding them back with nips from her blades that severed chunks of flesh from their arms.
Two cries, and then two soft thumps.
The Iron Phoenix might spare lives, but she did not. Something she had learned the hard way over the past decade. The final body fell to the ground in three pieces. Silence filled the street once more.
“Protectress, save us.”
Phoenix Rising Page 4
