The Iron Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  He stared at her for a moment before his eyebrows shot up. “You’re the captain’s daughter?”

  Nadya bowed her head. “Yes, sir. Nadya. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Private Ferka. It sure must be busy for him to send his daughter all the way down here.”

  “Well, you heard about all the rioting this afternoon. I suspect he’ll be here the night. He and Mother have started lecturing me on taking more responsibility for the family and all, so I guess this is just one of the ways I’m to do it.”

  “Well, I suppose it’s fine then.” Private Ferka stepped aside. “Just be quick now. The captain does not like to be kept waiting.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nadya almost melted with relief when she walked past him and into the short row of cells where those awaiting trial were kept. Most were bare. It smelled musky down here, with a pungent undertone that made her wonder if some poor animal had crawled in one of the vents and died.

  She found Duren in the last cell. A few innocent questions to her father over the past days confirmed he had not yet been executed. The former personal guard to Jurek looked like the life had been leeched out of him. He stared at her with wide bloodshot eyes. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut. When he spoke, his voice cracked. “Shadar’s daughter…Nadya, right?”

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “What poor fate has led you down here?”

  There was little point in hiding anything. If Duren were to speak of it to anyone, she could always deny it. “I need some answers about the night your master was murdered,” she said quietly, hoping Private Ferka would not be able to hear.

  Duren’s half smile faded. “Go home, girl. This is not a place for you.”

  Nadya stepped closer to the bars. “I know you are innocent.”

  “Try convincing anyone else of that. You had your chance, too.”

  The words stung. “I am trying now.” She took a deep breath. “I saw you that night. I know someone else was there.”

  “In the middle of the night in the fourth tier?” Duren snorted. “I’ve a hard time believing that.”

  “Something happened to you. Something strange, something you cannot explain. Whatever it was, it was the last thing you remembered before waking up with your master’s blood on your clothes.”

  “How do you know that?” Duren whispered.

  She wasn’t about to tell him of the black eyes that linked him and the other Nomori murderer. “Tell me about it.”

  “It…it was darkness. I can remember turning around to see Master Jurek’s guest, a man I saw little of and knew littler about. Then there was darkness. I felt…” He shivered. “Every terrible thing I have done played through me. Like a weight. The darkness held me down. When I awoke, I remembered nothing else. It must have been me who killed him, but I cannot remember making the killing blow.” Duren looked up at her. “Does that give you what you seek?”

  “Thank you. I can’t guarantee your freedom,” Nadya said truthfully. “Not many will listen.”

  “I don’t expect anything of the sort.” Duren stood up and came to the bars. He stared right into Nadya’s eyes, and she struggled to hold his hollow gaze. “I heard about the theater, about Jastima. Stop it, if you can. That’s all I ask.”

  Nadya gulped. “I’ll try.”

  He returned to his bench. She stayed another moment before leaving. Nadya knew she would not see Duren again. He had survived this long because of the storm. Soon, though, the formalities would be finished, and he would be executed.

  His words confirmed what her grandmother said. There was someone with strange abilities at the heart of this, and the nivasi Drina had spoken of had something to do with it, she was sure.

  “Miss Gabori,” Marko stammered as he nearly walked into her in the hall. He recovered and straightened his tunic. “What are you doing here?”

  “My father, I was visiting him. I wanted to make sure he was all right.” The lie came easily.

  “I met with him not an hour ago. You should know by now, Miss Gabori, that it will take more than a handful of drunken rioters to hurt your father. I still have bruises from our training sessions to prove it.” The bit of humor didn’t reach the fatigue in his eyes.

  “I supposed that’s true,” she said, looking at her boots.

  Marko gestured down the hall. “Walk with me, Miss Gabori?”

  “Nadya,” she corrected automatically as they headed toward the front doors of the headquarters. As if he were her friend, not the heir to Storm’s Quarry and not the one who was taking Kesali away. When he looked at her, she blushed. “I’m not a miss of anything, milord. Just Nadya is fine.”

  “Well, then, just Marko is fine, too.”

  “But you’re the Duke’s son.”

  “And you’re Kesali’s friend.”

  Kesali’s friend. Yes, and you’re her betrothed. She bit the words back, and they tasted like sea salt.

  “Besides, we are in the trenches together now, trying to keep this city safe. I think we’ve earned the right to call each other by our first names.” He stopped, his smile uncertain. “Unless you’re uncomfortable with it.”

  Nadya paused, wondering what would come if she voiced the thoughts running through her mind, the thoughts of Kesali, of their kiss, of the harsh glow of Kesali’s betrothal necklace. Finally, she shook her head. “No…Marko.” She forced a lighthearted tone. “Although, the same does not apply to my grandmother. Call her by her first name, and I won’t be able to save you.”

  He actually laughed this time, and she caught the sparkle in his eyes, the way his posture relaxed just a bit, lifting the weight of the city’s future from his shoulders for a moment. Nadya swallowed hard. He was as tied by duty as Kesali was, as she was. Try as hard as she might, in that moment Nadya could not bring herself to hate the Duke’s son.

  They walked in silence for a bit, before Nadya stopped. She tilted her head, listening to the faints shouts that were growing louder by the moment. Masses of voices seemed to be heading toward the Guardhouse.

  “Is something wrong?” Marko asked.

  Before she could answer, two guardsmen sprinted through the double doors and skidded to a halt in front of them. They bowed. “Lord Marko,” one said, breathlessly, “there’s a mob coming straight for us. A thousand souls at least, gaining more every moment. Most of our men are out on patrol. I’ve called the Guard in, but it’ll take time.”

  Nadya watched as Marko’s face flashed with emotion. Her own chest filled with squirming snakes. So soon after the afternoon’s riot? Things were escalating in the city. Marko stared down at the floor, then looked up and all that was written on his features was cool command. “Get everyone who is here outside. Maintain a perimeter around the headquarters. Do not attack unless provoked. I’ll try to reason with them.”

  They bowed again and ran off.

  Marko sprinted toward the exit, Nadya carefully at his heels. He flung open the doors and they both saw the encroaching mass of people carrying torches, rifles, and crude homemade weaponry. The Duke’s son let out a stream of curses. He turned to her. “You need to get somewhere safe. I cannot spare any men to take you home. Go—”

  An explosion cut him off.

  She hit the wall of the headquarters hard as the ground trembled. The thunderous noise raked across her ears. Nadya covered them, eyes squeezed shut, until a hand touched her arm.

  She jerked, and Marko jumped back. “Sorry. Are you all right?”

  Her ears throbbed, but she said, “Yes. How did they—?”

  Another explosion rocked the street, more violent than the first.

  Nadya slammed into the wall, and several chunks of brick broke loose. Her ears shrieked, and when she put a hand to one, her fingers came away dipped in blood.

  She coughed. The air was now smoke, tinged with fire. Her eyes watered as she tried to peer through the gray to see what had happened.

  A moan came from fifteen paces away, and with a start, she realized it was M
arko. She ran to him and pulled him up. He seemed shaky, but he gave her a grateful nod. Blood dripped from a cut above his eyes.

  “What was that?” Nadya said again. Her voice sounded faint and far away. She turned around and saw the smoke rising out the windows of the headquarters. Flames licked at its stone foundations. Her chest went cold. The Guard will burn, the zealot had said.

  “Gunpowder. A lot of gunpowder.” Marko frowned. “How in the gods’ name did a mob obtain it?”

  A guardsman hurried over, despite a pronounced limp. He saluted Marko, then said, “They’re attacking the other side of the building. We’re holding them off, but unless you give the order to kill, we won’t be able to do so for long.”

  The blood left Marko’s face. “Why? Who? Do they have a purpose? Do they want something?”

  “Citizens, Erevan.” The guardsman, who was also Erevan, made a disgusted face. “They were protesting our inclusion of Nomori, saying the Nomori guardsmen let their kin get away with murdering us today. One man showed up and starting shouting about killing all the Nomori, and it got violent. Don’t know how they got ahold of the explosives. Right now, the crowds are out of control. Dozens of men are trapped inside, and the building’s aflame. A call’s been put in for the fire patrol. We’re trying to reach them, but we have to keep the crowd from killing us.”

  Her father was in there. The realization was a bucket of ice water over her head. Nadya’s hands turned to fists as Marko issued orders she didn’t hear. Shadar had been reporting in to the Guardmaster before being relieved of duty for the day.

  Marko grabbed her. “Nadya, get to safety. You need to leave—”

  She wrenched her arm away. “I’ve got to go.” She took off sprinting so fast that no one would be able to follow her.

  It was her father trapped in there, and she could not let anything happen to him.

  Even if it meant revealing her abilities.

  She ducked into a culvert alley between two storehouses. Her belt pouch was torn as she frantically ripped out the cloak. It swirled around her shoulder, and she fastened the scarf across her face. The fabric smelled terrible, like damp and fish, but it kept out the worst of the smoke.

  She gripped the edges of stones and climbed up the side of the building. Her fingers dug into the cement between the stones, chipping it. She climbed faster. Her ears throbbed, masking the sounds of what was going on. Between the loss of hearing and the endless smoke, Nadya felt blind.

  She crawled onto the flat roof and stood, shakily. To the east, the three-story building that housed the headquarters of the city’s guard was in ruins. Its stone walls had crumbled in places, and smoke billowed out the gaps, escaping the golden and ruby flames that licked hungrily at the edges. Shadows of hundreds of people moved under the smoke. She spotted several crimson uniforms trying to restrain the masses. Others, blackened, dove into the headquarters and emerged, hacking their lungs out, with comrades over their shoulders.

  Nadya could not see her father.

  She made sure her scarf was fastened tightly, touched her seal and sent a prayer to the Protectress, hoping that this once she might answer, and jumped. She sailed over the crowd and the guard and landed on the crumbling roof.

  Nadya yelped as the stone gave way and she dropped into the building, followed by a sizable chunk of the roof. Rubble filled the air and streamed out the windows and gaping holes in the stone. Flames roared underneath her feet and smoke encircled her throat. Nadya kept her breaths short and fast. The heat didn’t bother her much, and her cloak was fire resistant. She gathered it around her and began looking.

  This eerie hell no longer looked like a building. Stones glowed cherry red as flames licked at them. The wooden planks over the dirt floor were all but gone, reduced to sinister piles of ash. Smoke formed phantoms that darted around corners, taunting Nadya into thinking she saw a person. She dashed through what remained of a doorway. This room looked like it could have been an office. A wooden table sat in the center, looking as if it had been dipped in liquid flame. All around it, the remains of books clattered off burning shelves.

  She turned, an arm over her mouth, but a whimper came through the wreckage. Her father’s name was on her lips, but she stopped herself. If it was her father, he couldn’t know who it was wearing this gray disguise, standing in fire without being burned.

  She rushed over to the remains of the desk. A form moved under fallen debris. She lifted a piece of wooden ceiling support off of him, and turned him over.

  It wasn’t her father, but Nadya didn’t hesitate. She lifted him up and threw him over her shoulder. Carrying him was awkward, since he was two heads taller than her, but she grunted and maneuvered his body on her shoulder so she could walk.

  She moved as fast as she could, back the way she’d come. As she raced under the doorway, the stone above her collapsed. Nadya swore and dropped the man, shielding him with her body. Stones hit her back, red hot from the fire. She screamed and heaved upward, and the stone clattered to the ground.

  Her back ached, but she hoisted the man up again and continued. He wouldn’t survive for long, breathing in the smoke. Nadya trudged through the wreckage as fast as she dared until she tasted damp air. It still stung her lungs with smoke, but the cloying heat was gone, and Nadya dropped to her knees. She dragged the man off her back as gently as she could, and laid him down on the cobblestones.

  “The Guardmaster,” someone nearby shouted.

  Nadya blinked. She was surrounded by crimson uniforms. One bent down to check the pulse of the man she had rescued. She searched for her father, but he wasn’t there. Just beyond them, a line of guardsmen tried to push back the mass of the mob. Shouts and screams filled the courtyard, as thick as the smoke.

  “Who are you?” one asked, but she was already up and running back into the building. Both the guardsmen and her back protested, but she thought of her father, and that made her legs go.

  “Let him go,” another voice said. “Maybe he can save some of them. It’s too dangerous for the likes of us.”

  He wasn’t wrong, Nadya thought as she plunged through the gaping stones, nearly tripping on the loose ones on the ground, and back into the inferno. Heat twisted around her lungs, but she ignored it and followed the faint cries she heard.

  The man it led her to was not her father, but a boy not much older than her. He was unconscious, with blood dripping down a wound in his head. She thought he was dead for a moment, until a faint pulse beat under her searching fingers.

  The men outside ran over when she brought him out. They were coughing, their uniforms blackened. Nadya realized the healthy ones had all been dispatched to the front line of the protests. One of the men nodded at her, then took the youth and started pumping his chest to get him breathing again.

  Nadya dove back into the flames. She was not the only one. The city’s fire patrol had arrived, grim-faced citizens wearing blue fireproof suits. Some created a chain of buckets from the nearest well to try to douse the flames. Others followed her example and looked for survivors in the building.

  Ignoring them, Nadya searched through the entire building, going painstakingly slow. She didn’t find her father, but she pulled out half a dozen men. One of them was Duren. His cell door was white-hot by the time she reached it. She tugged it free, burning her hands. He gave her a long look before letting her carry him out through the flames.

  The fire had grown so hot that now she was finding bodies instead of men. No normal person would be able to survive the flames for more than a few moments, and those men were smart enough not to try. Even the men of the fire patrol had given up their searches and instead doubled the efforts on the bucket chain.

  She jumped down through a flame-ringed hole in the floor to the basement. Remains of bunks tottered on flamed-consumed supports and crashed in front of her, sending flames shooting up through the ceiling. Nadya leapt back. She might be more protected than most, but even she couldn’t stand in the middle of a fire and be imm
une to its effects.

  There was rustling to her left, and Nadya whirled around, expecting to see another form lying prone on the ground.

  It was her father.

  They stared at each other. Nadya’s limbs froze. She wanted to reach up to check to see if the scarf still covered her face, but she couldn’t move. Shadar’s face was blackened under the scrap of cloth he had bound around his mouth. Blisters covered his hands. He turned from the wall of rubble he’d been trying to tear through.

  The basement was silent but for the crackling of fire. In the quiet, Nadya heard scraping. She winced. It sounded like fingernails against stone, coming from behind the wall of rubble.

  “What are you doing here?” her father snapped. “It’s not safe. Get out of here!”

  With a pang of pride, she realized her father was helping to get his comrades out despite the danger. That broke through her paralysis. She rushed over to the wall. Shadar put a hand out to stop her, but she brushed past it easily.

  She put an ear up to the rubble.

  “What do you think—”

  Nadya drew back and slammed her fist into the mix of stones and wood and char. It went through. She opened her hand, yanked it back, bringing half the wall down with her. Shadar’s voice faded when he saw her drag the body of a man, still alive, from behind the rubble. He narrowed his eyes, but remained silent.

  The building creaked. The fire was eating away at its supports. It wouldn’t be long before the entire thing collapsed. She dodged a piece of stone that fell from the ceiling. The stairs had long deteriorated under flame.

  Nadya crouched down, securing the man over her shoulders, and leapt. The back of her neck slammed into the ceiling of the second floor, but she came down on stone. The entire building shook with the impact, more rocks crumbling from the floor, falling to the basement.

  She dropped the man and looked down for her father. He was tight up against the basement wall, away from the collapsing ceiling. She glanced back at the injured guard, then knelt on the hot floor and stretched her hand down. Her bronze skin, untarnished by flame, shone in the flickering light.