Shay turned away, disgust filling her mouth.
The door swung open, and Shay pretended her legs were roots dug deep into the ground. It was that, or bolt away down the alley.
Illuminated by the soft glow of gas lamps, Simza Rissalo stood in doorway. Tall and boney, with dark hair knotted in the proper bun of a married Nomori woman and eyes sharp in the dim light of the predawn hour.
“What do you want? We have no clean water, nor food to spare.”
Shay’s throat had gone dry. She stared at her sister, trying to find the words to make this whole encounter make a single lick of sense in her mind. “Simza,” she managed, finally.
“Yes?” Simza folded her arms. “My children are asleep, as is my husband. I ask that you leave and not disturb us further.”
“I need…” Stars, Shay, you are not afraid of her.
But she was. The buildings in this neighborhood loomed over her, threatening to cut off her air. The ground rolled under her feet, and Shay reached out for anything to support her, but found nothing but emptiness.
“There is a hospital on the third tier. Travel south on this street until you reach the fountain, then go straight up the stairs.” Simza looked over her, nodded once, and made to close the door.
For Nadya. For that blasted girl and everything she means to you.
“Simza, it’s me.” She cleared her throat. “Shay.”
A long moment of silence stretched between them. If the stakes had not been so high, if her heart had not been beating with the force of drum, Shay would have found it comical to track the exact moment her sister realized who stood outside her home. Her eyes widened, brows rising until their disappeared into shadow.
“Shay. You died.”
“I was killed, or supposed to be. There is a difference. Uncle Adi was always a soft man. He could not hand me over, so he smuggled me out.” She tried to quell the tremble in her voice. “But you know all about what was supposed to happen.”
“I—why are you here?” Simza glanced behind her, no doubt to where her new family slept peacefully, not knowing of the dangerous nivasi at the door.
“That’s it? No words on what happened?”
Not why you are here.
But how could she not say anything, after her words had sent her little sister off to her execution?
Simza’s eyes flashed. “You want an apology? You wish me to feel guilt for what happened to you?”
For a moment, Shay could not find the words, she was so angry. The rage burned within her, sudden and hot. “You were my big sister.” Each syllable hissed out between her teeth. “You were supposed to protect me, not send me off to the slaughter.”
“Shay, I was a child myself. I did not know what I was doing.”
“And now?”
“Now?”
Shay held her hands wide. Tiny flames ran up and down her arms. In the darkness of the culvert alley, she must look like a demon from the nether regions. “You are no longer a child, Simza. What’s your excuse now?”
She gazed at Shay, who suddenly felt young under her piercing eyes. Something they shared, eyes as dark as a starless midnight. “Now, I do not know you.” Before Shay could interrupt, she held up a hand. “I know you think that’s my fault. I told our parents about your inner flame. But do you honestly believe such a reveal wouldn’t have happened? Your banishment came about through centuries of Nomori teachings, not one girl’s actions.”
“We’ll never get a chance to know.” Shay knew she was being bitter, knew there was more than a bit of truth to Simza’s words.
“It’s easier to hate me for what happened, isn’t it,” Simza said, shaking her head. “Perhaps it was my fault. Perhaps you would have hid your nature as easily as the Iron Phoenix, using a mask to create chaos throughout the city.”
“The Phoenix saves you! Every stars-cursed day. You have no idea, no idea of what the Iron Phoenix has given to keep the city still, what the Phoenix continues to give.” The defense tumbled out of her mouth before Shay could stop herself. She recalled the hurt in Nadya’s eyes when she had denounced the city and stormed off earlier that day, and flushed with shame. “Even though no one will help.”
“I can’t speak to the Phoenix. Who he is.” Simza sighed. She stared at her hands as if they carried a great weight. “That is not what I am trying to say. I am used to seeing the truth of everything I touch. It has taken many years to learn to control my gift, to ignore it when I am trying to sleep. Remember how it kept me up?”
Shay did. “You would wake screaming about the ants burrowing into the floor. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you, sister?” She spat the final word. “You learned control to be able to sleep. I learned control to keep from burning down everything I touch.”
“Then prove it to me.” Simza held out a hand.
“What?” Shay said. She resisted the urge to retreat from the touch that had ruined her life all those years ago.
“Let me see your true nature. You came here for a reason, and it was not a happy family reunion. You want something from me, and this is my price.” Simza paused. “Unless you fear what I will see.”
“I am not afraid of you,” Shay snapped.
Simza did not flinch. “But are you afraid of yourself?”
Was she? Shay bit her lip, buying time. Her sister’s outstretched hands suddenly looked as if they held a weapon, as if they were as deadly as her own or Nadya’s. She had spent the past weeks trying to convince Nadya that neither of them was Gedeon, that their choices separated them from that monster. Until seeing Simza’s hands, Shay had readily believed it.
Now, now she was not so sure.
Simza lowered her arms. “Perhaps knowing the truth of yourself is too great a price to pay.”
“No.” The denial burst from Shay’s lips.
“No?”
“I—” She closed her hands, drawing her flames back within herself before they got out of hand.
Do you believe what you said about the Iron Phoenix or not? Nadya has given everything to save this cursed city. She keeps on giving, no matter how ungrateful the Nomori and Erevans are. Shay’s hands trembled. She tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry. Damn it all, she loves this city more than anything. More than you, more than Kesali. And she trusted you with helping to save it. Her home. Be worthy of that trust and face whatever Simza throws at you!
“Do it,” she said, holding out a hand.
“If you’re sure.” Simza reached out and grasped her fingers. Shay flinched, but her sister’s hand was gentle, cool. Still soft, lacking the calluses that years of working in a smithy built.
Part of her expected Simza’s reading to hurt. Part of her would have preferred that, paying a debt of pain and blood rather than knowing. Seeing.
Simza grunted, eyes going unfocused. What do you see? Shay wanted to scream. Anything to give relief to the great pressure building within her chest. Did the pained expression on her sister’s face mean she was doomed, just like Gedeon? Like Durriken? Did it mean her parents were right to hand her over to the Elders?
A whine escaped Simza’s lips, and amidst the storm of uncertainty within her, one thought echoed through Shay’s mind: How would it be to live your life knowing the truth of all you touch?
Their touch lasted moments and hours at the same time. Shay watched a thousand emotions flit across her sister’s face—or was it all her imagination, the shadows of the witching hour playing off her deep fears?
“All right.” Simza staggered back. Her thin limbs shook slightly, and she carried a sudden frailty. For the first time, Shay realized she was taller than her older sister. What did you see that sucked the life out of you like this? She wanted to ask, but she was a coward.
Simza nodded once. “You met my price. What did you want of me?”
It took Shay a moment to find her voice. “Wait…you’re not going to tell me?”
“My price was seeing your true nature. I’ve done that. Now, ask your boon.”
Shay stared at her, mouth open. “All that, and I don’t even get to know? You saw something. Tell me what it is.”
“No.” Simza’s gaze met hers, and Shay shrank back a bit, losing something of the righteous indignation she had been ready to unleash upon her sister. Simza’s eyes held a depth that there was no end to, a quiet pain, the kind covered by soft smiles and gentle reassurances. “Knowing is my burden, sister. You bear your own.”
You called me sister. A lump formed in Shay’s throat, but she was unwilling to acknowledge it, to break this new fragile truce between them. Numbly, she reached into her pocket and held out the compound. “I need to know what this is. How to make more of it. Anything you can tell me.”
The compound glittered in the faint light of the street’s gas lamps. Its lumpy gray color looked almost silver, translucent veins running along sharp angles of the small rock.
Simza raised an eyebrow but took the compound from her. She rolled it around, running her fingers over the smooth surface. “It is an antidote, meant to dissolve in water.”
“Yes, I know that.” Shay took a breath. “I mean, is there anything else you can tell me?”
Her sister fixed her with a stare, looking almost insulted. “Of course. This was crafted less than two moonrises ago. Made of mountain silt, ivy oils, with bits of thyme and…” She paused, frowning. “Pollen. Of course. Its nature is to counteract an extremely potent version of the Summer Lady.”
“Summer Lady? Do you mean the scouring sickness?”
Simza held out the compound. “No, it’s a flower. Grown in the north. Its petals are blood red, toxic to any who ingest it. Its pollen can neutralize the poison, however. This compound holds traces of that pollen. Everything else is to facilitate its interaction with water, enabling it to disperse and effectively counteract the poison.”
“That’s not possible.” Shay shook her head, pushing Simza’s hand away. “Read it again. You made a mistake. This cures the scouring sickness in this city’s water. The one caused by the taint from the sea waters and the Blood Sun Solstice.”
“Is that why you came here?” Simza asked softly, looking at the compound as if seeing it for the first time. “This is why Cressian soldiers march through our streets.”
“Yes, so read it right this time. I need a recipe to make more of it.”
“I have not lectured you on how to burst into flame. Kindly do not tell me how to read that stars-cursed stone.” Simza held the compound up in front of Shay’s face. “It has no curative properties. Nothing that would cleanse the water. This compound was created to nullify a poison, and that is its sole purpose.” Her voice caught. “Protectress…they are trying to kill us.”
“Yes, I guess they are.” Shay’s felt the hollowness of her own words. This Councillor Aster was far smarter than any of them had anticipated. Stealing a nation out from under itself through a sham of a treaty. All for a cure to an illness they spread themselves. She was a bit taken aback with the brilliance of the plan, though she would never admit it. No doubt, Storm’s Quarry’s water had run sour in the days after the Kyanite Sea poured into its wells. And before those wells could purify themselves naturally, Wintercress swooped down, scattering their poison and promising health in the form of a gray lump.
“Are you sure? Surely you would have detected the poison within the water.” She could not bring anything less than certainty, not to where she was going.
“Water is difficult to read. A blessing, that. It comes from a thousand places, rains birthed from a thousand different clouds. I could discern the illness, certainly. But nothing beyond that. Perhaps, if I had tried harder—”
Shay snatched the compound away, pocketing it. “Not you too. I have had enough of the tortured hero act to last a lifetime.” She hesitated. “But they will not succeed—Wintercress, that is. Not if they can be stopped.”
“You are planning to? You and the Phoenix?” There was a disgusting amount of hope in her voice. Shay turned to go.
“Shay!” Simza grabbed her arm. “It is in the water, do you understand? Thousands will die. You must do something. The woman I read you to be would not let such a thing stand.”
Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet her sister’s until Simza blinked. “You may be able to read me, but do not think to know me.” Shay was immensely proud of how little her voice shook. “You saw I was a monster, or you didn’t. It doesn’t matter, does it? Not when I am the one who can save everyone in this salt-dried tier.”
“That is not—”
“For ten years I have drifted between fearing you and all other Nomori and not caring if you saw that monster you were all so convinced I would turn out to be.” Shay found herself smiling, and she imagined Nadya’s confusion had she been there to see it. “Either way, no matter how many leagues I put between myself and this city, your hold over me remained. And now? Now you need me. The nivasi. The girl who was doomed to go mad and slaughter our people. Who was sent to die because of her blood.” She drew a deep breath. “And you know what? I will. I will save the people who turned me out, took my childhood because of the ill fortune of my blood. I will save you because it is my choice. I am free of you. Forever.”
She turned away and walked into the dawn. Not once did she look back.
*
With a hollow chest, Nadya debated wearing the cloak and armor to tell her father, and by extension the Duke, what had transpired. Would it be better to fail as Nadya Gabori or the Iron Phoenix? Would it make a difference to anyone when Wintercress’s armies marched through gates thrown wide open, past the thirst-slackened bodies of the lower tiers?
Shadar was not present at the Guardhouse. “Up at the palace, heading the Guard at the ceremony this morning,” one Erevan guardsman told her. “You need a message passed along?”
Her voice didn’t work for a moment. “Yes, from his daughter. Tell him—tell him I didn’t get it.”
“All right.” He frowned, staring at her. “Wait, I have something to tell you. I think. You spend time in the second tier, yes?”
“Do I know you?” she asked bluntly.
The guardsman nodded. “Sort of. You dropped a boy off at my station a few weeks back. He had the scouring sickness. I brought him to the hospital.”
“Oh.” Nadya cleared her throat. The familiarity sank in, and she finally placed him as one of the two guardsmen she’d turned Puck over to. The one with the sick niece. “How—how is he?”
The guardsman’s silence was all she needed. “I’m sorry, truly. That sickness has claimed too many of our people. I just thought you might want to know.” He abruptly walked away.
“Wait,” she blurted out. “Your niece?”
His posture stiffened, and then he kept walking.
Nadya understood. She leaned against the stone wall, its coolness seeping into her bones. Puck had died. She hardly knew him. Just another Erevan boy. No doubt raised on hate and more than happy to watch her people rot in the sea-scum tier. Her hands clenched. Just another body to add to the toll of the Blood Sun Solstice and its aftermath.
To the machinations of Councillor Aster and Wintercress.
No, she realized, and she straightened up. Puck wasn’t just a body. He was this city’s future, the promise of peace, of cooperation, perhaps even friendship between the two peoples. He was the hope that all of them—she and Kesali, Marko and Shadar, the Duke most of all—fought for, the hope that made all the sacrifices worth something.
Resolve built up in her throat in the place of tears. Puck wouldn’t want tears. “He’d want me to punch a few Cressian thugs,” Nadya whispered.
Damn it all, she would.
*
The ceremony was under way when Nadya snuck in. Not as Nadya Gabori, failed daughter of a Nomori family, but as the Iron Phoenix, armor shining beneath the cloak.
Its support gave her the push she needed. If she closed her eyes, she could swear it still smelled like Shay’s smithy.
She took her place on t
he rafter in the grand hall of the palace. Leaping up took little effort. From the shadows above the rich marble room, leaning against the top of an intricately carved pillar, Nadya had a clear view of the moment that Storm’s Quarry would cease to be.
Maybe the Phoenix could do nothing here. But maybe…maybe a miracle could still happen.
Protectress, if you care for your people at all, you will stop this, she prayed. Or give me the tools to do so.
Councillor Aster stood on the dais with Duke Isyanov. Behind them, Kesali and Marko stood, gripping hands. No one save the Councillor looked at ease. Aster, however, beamed with satisfaction, and if guardsmen and Cressian soldiers had not been placed through the hall, the courtiers gathered would have torn her smugness apart.
Even with her soldiers, she looked vulnerable. How easy it would be to leap down and to end this madness with a single blow.
Gedeon’s laugh echoed in her ears, and Nadya reeled backward.
Darkness gripped her throat, tearing at the edges of her vision, stuffing itself into her pores. There was blood and bone and gristle not meant to see the light of day. The smell choked her, and she swayed on the rafter, gripping the stone support until it turned to gravel in her grasp.
Not here, not now, the rational part of her mind cried out. Lose control and you will be no better than Gedeon. Fight against it. She tried to recall the teaching of her father, the mantras she had leaned upon these past months, but the words were swallowed by sweat and panic and the rapid beating of her heart.
Not a chance, Phoenix.
The voice cut through the haze surrounding her mind, and Nadya reached for it, desperate.
My voice, hold on to it. Breathe. In. Out.
“Stop!”
Nadya’s heart stuttered as everyone turned toward the door of the throne room.
A dark-clad figure stood alone in the doorway. Oil smudged the edges of her eyes, robbing her features of sharpness. She wore close-fitting leather armor, and she strode forward down the carpet. It was not possible for her to be more out of place in this hall, and yet her presence commanded the same respect as the well-tailored nobility crowding near the edge of the walkway, gawking at the newcomer.
Phoenix Rising Page 18
