Phoenix Rising

by Rebecca Harwell

  Shay stared defiantly at the Duke and Councillor. “This city won’t fall to Wintercress, not if I can stop it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “If the Duke’s Guard will not end this interruption, then I will.” Councillor Aster waved to her soldiers. “Remove her, please.”

  Twin blades of light, whiter than a midday sun, erupted in Shay’s hands. Murmurs turned to frightened whispers as the crowds moved back from the edge of the walkway. Courtiers and delegates scrambled to get away from the nivasi.

  Shay crossed her blades in front of her. Their light bounced off the dark smudges around her eyes. “Try it.”

  Aster’s soldiers stopped their progress toward her, looking wildly between their leader and this intruder who could bend fire to her will.

  The members of the Duke’s Guard on duty moved to intercept, faces set with resigned determination, no doubt remembering the last time their order went toe-to-toe with a nivasi.

  “No,” Nadya cried out, unable to stop herself, and her father echoed her call.

  “Stand down!” Shadar’s voice carried over the throne room, and the guardsmen retreated, their hands still gripping rapiers and muskets.

  One voice cut through the sudden madness of the hall. Duke Isyanov stepped off the dais, brushing aside the concerns of Marko and his Guard. “I will speak with her.”

  Shay nodded and stopped, waiting in the middle of the room. The crowd bent around her, her blades shining off the uncertainty in their eyes. It was a testament to the discipline of the Duke’s Guard that she was unharmed. Or rather, Nadya thought, that she had not hurt any of them. All uniformed personnel, Nomori, Erevan, and Cressian, stood to attention, white-knuckled hands clutching their weapons in readiness.

  War could erupt within the hall in an instant, and everyone knew it.

  The Duke’s carefully measured steps, muffled by the carpeted walkway, stopped just paces from the tips of Shay’s blades. Nadya glanced at her father, who was doing his best to keep a calm expression, no doubt inwardly screaming as his Duke threw himself into danger.

  But this was not danger. This was Shay. As dangerous as they came, Nadya knew, but not uncontrolled like a Great Storm or floodwaters. Dangerous like the precisely aimed barrel of a musket. Not like Durriken, not…

  “Not Gedeon,” she said, and believed it.

  Down the length of the hall, Shay spoke bluntly. “Signing that treaty is the worst mistake you will ever make.” She did not break eye contact with the Duke.

  “That is for me to decide. Unless you have something”—his voice caught slightly, and Nadya realized how desperate he truly was, to consider the words of an unknown nivasi—“the signing will go forward.”

  Upon the dais, Councillor Aster cleared her throat politely. “Your Grace, the morning already grows long. I assure you, time is of the essence. Your waters grow more dangerous each moment passes without the compound.”

  Shay glanced over the Duke’s shoulder and spat. Gasps echoed throughout the hall. She looked up at Duke Isyanov, and Nadya’s heart clenched. Had she come back to save them, or to laugh in their faces?

  Do not trust her. The voice changed from her grandmother’s to her father’s to Gedeon’s. She flinched.

  Shay’s voice was quiet, not intended to reach beyond the Duke and, perhaps, to Nadya. If Shay even knew she was here. Nadya wished desperately to make herself known, but she knew what would happen should the Iron Phoenix appear in a crowd at a gathering the Duke held. The people below would be terrified after last time. Last time…

  Her world spun, but when the darkness nipped at her, Nadya focused upon Shay, on the lines of her body, the strength with which she stood, the piercing gaze of her eyes. She breathed in once, again. The blooded memory retreated, and Shay’s voice below came to her ears. She was holding aloft the lump of compound.

  “This does not purify. The compound is an antidote to the damn poison they are dumping into your waters. You stop using the compound, and they start dumping more. They have created the scouring sickness from a plant native to their lands called the Summer Lady, and now they are trying to sell you the cure.”

  Poison? Nadya wondered. A cold fury began in her belly, spreading out to her limbs. She turned to where Councillor Aster stood on the dais next to the treaty that would end Storm’s Quarry. You will not get away with this. Not even if he signs that paper today, she vowed. The image of Puck drifted across her mind. Those who have died through your power-hungry schemes will be avenged.

  Her seal burned hot in affirmation.

  “How can this be?” the Duke said. To his credit, he kept his expression calm, with not so much as a glance back to where the Councillor stood.

  “How can Cressians be so evil? Stars, if I know.” Shay stuffed the compound in a pocket and shook her head. “A Nomori psychic who can read the essence of things confirmed this to be true. Signing that treaty will not save your people. You don’t need what they are offering.”

  Then she went to her sister after all. Nadya’s knees nearly gave way, and she swayed on her perch. You were right to trust her.

  To trust her, and everything else. You were right.

  Below, the Duke stared down at Shay, eyes unreadable. “You are asking me to gamble with the lives of my people.”

  “No, I’m asking you to trust a nivasi,” Shay replied, straightening. Her blades flared, and several guardsmen, Shadar included, crept ever so slightly toward her.

  Had Nadya paused for a moment to consider her next move, she might not have gone through with it. Then again, when had her better sense ever prevailed when it came to Shay? Cloak whirling about her, she leapt down off the rafter. A crack reverberated throughout the hall as she hit the carpeted marble floor upon her knee, instantly silencing the crowds and eliciting a quiet gasp from Councillor Aster. Slowly, she rose.

  “The Iron Phoenix.” Murmurs rose as the crowds scrambled, tripping over one another, to get away from the known murderer and nivasi. But several people stayed where they were, looking at her with a strange expression. Hope.

  They still see it in me, even after the solstice. She turned to Shay, whose expression had softened into the confident smirk Nadya had grown to love. Behind the casual façade, her eyes shone with relief and something deeper.

  “Two,” Nadya said, facing Duke Isyanov and the royal family upon the dais. She pitched her voice lower, but it was unmistakably feminine. Marko’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. If he recognized her, however, he said nothing. At his side, Kesali’s eyes brimmed with tears. She nodded at Nadya, urging her onward.

  “You must trust us both.”

  Shay’s blades went out, leaving the Duke’s face in shadow.

  Nadya bit her lip. This was it. If he saw only a murderer and an outcast, two women whose power was far more danger than it was worth, a threat to his city, then all was lost.

  “You vouch for her?” he asked, gaze roving over Nadya.

  Her fingers clung to the edges of her cloak, her armor against the Duke’s sharp eyes. “I do.”

  Beside her, Shay jerked slightly. Nadya brushed her shoulder softly against Shay’s, repeating, “I vouch for her.”

  The Duke nodded once. He turned back to the dais, where Councillor Aster waited beside the treaty, the edge of her mouth twitching. She spoke, but Nadya’s focus was elsewhere. A thousand phrases sped through her mind, but her mouth barely worked, choked by everything that needed to be said and everything that could not be voiced.

  Finally, she whispered to Shay, “You came back.” I am sorry for what I did, for what I kept from you. I can never repay you for everything you have done. You have saved us all where I could not.

  “’Course I did,” Shay replied. I forgive you.

  She wished she was Nadya not the Phoenix, that she could throw her arms around Shay, but they stood in the middle of the throne room, a hall full of distrusting eyes upon them. And up on the dais, the future of Storm’s Quarry was being decided.

&nbs
p; The Duke was speaking, his words slow and deliberate. “Lady Aster, you have committed a grave crime against my people.”

  He trusts us. Nadya felt warmth surge through her. Despite everything nivasi have done to this city, he trusts us with its future.

  “Your soldiers poison our wells even as you offer a false compound for nothing except the yoke you placed about this city. No more.” Duke Isyanov faced the gathered crowd. “Today, Storm’s Quarry will not bow to those who would subdue us. The treachery of Wintercress has been revealed, and now we can pull free of their grasp. Our waters will run pure, our resolve stronger still.” He turned back to the Councillor. “I reject your treaty. We will not be consumed under the banner of Wintercress.”

  Councillor Aster did not flinch. Instead, she gave a soft sigh. “Aleksandr, you do not understand. Wintercress will have Storm’s Quarry.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “And what price are you willing to pay to keep your island?” She leaned forward. “Truth be told, I am your greatest ally.”

  “Then I have poor taste in alliances.” The Duke’s tone was anything but jovial.

  Nadya wanted to storm onto the dais and demand they stop this absurd political dance. But she knew this to be a battlefield of a different sort, and the two leaders circled one another, wielding words instead of blades, lunging and parrying in a contest as deadly as a duel.

  And with far greater consequences.

  “You misunderstand. Poison was, perhaps, a bit crude, but effective nonetheless. You were about to make a very good decision for the future of your people.” She nodded to the contract, crisp and waiting on its ornate wooden stand.

  “Such a rash decision is no longer needed.”

  Aster laughed softly. “Do you know why I was sent?” She did not wait for a reply. “My great-uncle, High King of Wintercress, would have sent armies. Waged a war that would leave Storm’s Quarry a burning pile of rubble in the middle of the sea. He did not care as long as the gem mines were unharmed.”

  Nadya’s chest tightened. An invasion? So, the worst was true.

  “I saved your city. I intervened, suggesting a subtler approach.” The faintest edge of bitterness seeped into her tone. Councillor Aster cleared her throat. “If you do not sign the agreement, then I have failed. My failure means your end. I am your only chance. Do not sacrifice your people for your own pride.”

  “My pride has nothing to do with it,” the Duke snapped. Nadya looked at him in surprise. Never before had she seen his composure broken. Anger overflowed from his eyes as he stepped toward Aster.

  “Father,” Marko said, reaching for him.

  Duke Isyanov stopped just before her, brushing Marko’s hand aside. “I would give my title up for my people in an instant. But they already know this.”

  Affirmative nods and mutterings swelled from the crowds, and Nadya found herself agreeing.

  “I would give up my son’s inheritance, the treasures of the palace and the mines. But”—and his tone shook with unspent emotion—“I will not give up our home.” Before Aster could protest, he grabbed the treaty from its stand and, standing before the crowd, tore the parchment in two.

  The hall thundered with wordless cheers. Marko raised his fist, and Kesali nodded and clapped. Even Shadar, who knew the cost of such a statement, smiled in solidarity with his Duke.

  Such feelings should have overwhelmed her. But it was only when Shay, standing beside her, nudged her arm that Nadya felt her legs turn to water.

  “You did it, Phoenix,” Shay whispered.

  She returned the nudge gently, feeling the warmth of Shay’s shoulder against hers. “We did it.” And there, the intensity of the moment, of Duke Isyanov standing triumphantly holding the torn parchment, of their success in driving Wintercress from the city, hit her, and she wanted nothing more than to laugh, to tear off her cloak and spin around in the Nomori square.

  Councillor Aster broke the hall’s elated atmosphere. Her voice cut through the pride and hope of the peoples of Storm’s Quarry, bringing them back to the throne room and the legion of sharply armored Cressian soldiers that stood behind her. She shook her head. “You are foolish. You cannot see beyond your own noses.” She raised a hand. “And when our armies descend upon your city, what then? Will your people thank you for a violent death?”

  Duke Isyanov gave a small smile. Louder than any bellow, its effect reverberated through the throne room. Erevans and Nomori stood taller, while the Wintercress soldiers and delegates shifted about. Councillor Aster narrowed her eyes, the hand bearing the Royal Seal of House Wintercress trembling slightly.

  The Duke began to speak, his voice clear and strong. “You will fail. As the floodwaters did. As Gedeon the Chaos-maker did. You think you will fall upon this city like carrion eaters upon a carcass, but you are wrong.” Beside him, Marko nodded along with every word.

  “Am I?” Aster hissed through clenched teeth, her impenetrable visage cracking for the first time.

  “You are.”

  Nadya’s gaze jerked away from the Wintercress ambassador to Kesali, who spoke. The girl she had played with in the mud of alley drains, with whom she had shared a dance on Arane Sveltura, stood proudly in her mother’s vest and trousers, hair braided, unequivocally, unashamedly Nomori, commanding the presence of the entire room. Shoulder to shoulder with the leaders of two powerful nations, Kesali Stormspeaker, future Duchess of Storm’s Quarry and Elder of the Nomori people, spoke, and the entire world listened.

  Nadya’s heart burst with pride. There was pain, yes, for a future that had slowly dissipated over the last months. But this future, she thought, this would see Storm’s Quarry through, under the leadership of the greatest commanders any nation could hope to have. Her two best friends.

  “You will fail because we are strong.”

  Affirmative murmurs swept through the hall. All eyes were upon Kesali, Marko’s face beaming with support. He entwined his hand with hers, and Nadya was surprised to find herself smiling. Even more so to find a nagging urge to do the same with Shay.

  “We are strong, Erevan and Nomori both. Together, even. We have overcome the Blood Sun Solstice, the wrath of a nivasi, a zealot, a traitor, and nature itself.” She took a deep breath, and not a single soul dared to make a sound.

  “We are strong because Storm’s Quarry is protected.” Kesali’s eyes wandered over the crowd, coming to rest on Nadya. In a single moment, a lifetime of understanding passed between them. “We have what you do not, Councillor. When night falls here, you and your armies will not be safe. If you choose war, then you will face the guardians of Storm’s Quarry: the Iron Phoenix and the Shadow Dragon.”

  Beside her, Shay sucked in a breath.

  Kesali turned suddenly to face Aster. “Bring your armies, Councillor. Bring them, and see how they fare against our nivasi. See if soldiers of Wintercress can withstand fire and iron. See if you still think we are weak when your troops lie in ruin, cowering before our strength.”

  “She does have spirit,” Shay whispered. “Your city is in good hands.”

  “I know,” Nadya said, and let go. Of Kesali, of the final tendrils of the future that had so long been her sole focus. I love you, but you are not mine. You never have been. You belong to yourself and to Storm’s Quarry, and the city is all the better for it. I am so proud of you.

  On the dais, Councillor Aster opened her mouth. “I…” Her mask cracked further, and she took half a step back.

  Duke Isyanov folded his hands. “Kesali Stormspeaker speaks for Storm’s Quarry.”

  “She does,” Marko added. “Your move, Councillor.”

  The mask broke, and fury lit upon Aster’s face. Her eyes flashed. She sputtered twice before spitting out the words, “You overestimate yourself.”

  “We shall see.” The Duke gestured to Shadar, who stepped promptly to his side. “Your envoy is no longer welcome in Storm’s Quarry. My Guardmaster will see you and your soldiers out.”

  Her father, to his
credit, did not so much as pause at the title, though Nadya could not help her own grin. He had earned such an honor a thousand times over.

  “Then you have chosen war,” Aster said, adding a sharp word in Cressian. Her soldiers drew their sabers, forming a phalanx of steel and plate around her. Guardsmen moved to intercept, and Nadya started toward her. Around them, civilians screamed, rushing to get out of the fray.

  “No, look!” Shay said, grabbing her arm.

  She turned toward the back of the hall, where two figures stood at the very end of the carpeted walkway. Capes fluttered to the ground, revealing Cressian complexions and determined faces. Both men held hunting bows, nocking wickedly gleaming arrows to their bowstrings, no doubt smuggled into the hall in pieces, more innocent looking than a musket or pistol could ever hope to be, and assembled. Nadya opened her mouth, a cry tearing from her throat.

  Shadar heard and saw her gaze. “Guard!” he yelled, gesturing furiously to the archers. “Protect the royal family!”

  But the Cressian soldiers had already engaged the Guard. Saber strung rapier and musket blade. Gunpowder exploded as deadly lead balls buried themselves in vulnerable flesh.

  “Guard!” Shadar bellowed, shoving a Cressian swordsman to the ground, struggling toward the Duke. Marko cut down one, echoing Shadar’s cry. Kesali kicked another in the shin, dodging quickly out of his blade’s reach.

  The twang of dual bowstrings split the air, searing Nadya’s ears. Several Erevan guardsmen fired, and the archers collapsed, blood deepening the red carpet. Too late.

  Nadya shot forward. She pushed against the floor, cracking the stonework as she sprinted across the dais. Too late, too late, too late—

  She reached out—Protectress, please!—grasping with desperate fingers.

  The first arrow flew into her grip, just paces from the Duke’s unarmored chest. The second passed her by.