Shadar’s mouth opened, and for a terrible moment, Nadya thought he was going to refuse her help. Then, with a limping run, he launched himself in the air.
His fingers brushed hers, and she grabbed him, hauling him up with one hand.
Shadar dropped her grip as soon as he found himself on the first floor. His gaze hadn’t displayed any trust. Nadya took the injured man back onto her shoulder. He was coughing up blood and needed to get out of the building.
She pushed through the remains of walls and stairs, her father not two steps behind her. Nadya almost cried when a cool, damp breeze washed over her.
The wounded guardsman was wrenched from her grasp, and Shadar rushed toward his comrades, ignoring his limp and a blistering burn that raced up his left leg. She was too tired to protest, but seeing her father alive filled her with relief. Nadya wanted to sink to the ground and tear off the oppressively hot cloak, but several slightly wounded members of the Duke’s Guard watched her closely with suspicion.
She gulped. She needed to get out of there before anyone started asking questions.
Shouts broke through her fatigue, and Nadya realized, as the damp air dispersed the smoke and the headquarters collapsed behind her, that she recognized the voices. One belonged to Lord Marko, barely restraining fury. The other belonged to the zealot.
Nadya blinked through the smoke. Marko, flanked by red uniforms, stood before the zealot, who wore a filthy tunic. He had over a thousand men at his back, all riled up and thirsty for blood. Only the guardsmen kept it from becoming a complete bloodbath.
“Your captain should have listened down in the second tier. The Duke’s Guard has fallen to the Nomori, milord,” the zealot spat, the title an insult. “Those animals have allowed their own kind to kill indiscriminately, and the Guard does nothing.” At his words, the crowd roared.
A trail of dried blood ran down the Duke’s son’s forehead, but his voice was strong. “That is nothing but a fantasy intended to stir up a crowd. Those who started the riot today are being held in the prison. You have gone beyond a simple protest, zealot. People have died. Erevan and Nomori. My Guard. You will pay for this.”
The crowd behind the zealot roared to a fury when two of the Guard approached to arrest him. “You have no proof that was my doing, princeling. The storm gods are angry. They have shown their power, and it will only get worse unless the city is returned to them.” He pointed at Marko, who raised a hand to stop his guardsmen. “Marko Isyanov, I give you the ultimatum of the storm gods. If the sea has not receded by the solstice, as your witch has predicted, the storm gods demand her as a sacrifice. Only then, will our city be freed.”
Marko took a step back.
“Arrest me. Kill me, even, but you will not stop those who are loyal to our gods, to Storm’s Quarry.” The zealot turned and was swallowed up by the crowd. The guardsmen tried to force their way after him, but the sheer number of bodies repelled them.
Nadya sank to her knees. She watched with numb limbs as Marko stumbled back to the rest of his guardsmen. His face was white, and his hands trembled. Nadya felt sick. The zealot couldn’t be serious. The Erevans didn’t believe in their storm gods. They wouldn’t kill Kesali.
But if none of them believed, then where did these rioters come from?
“There he is. He came out of nowhere, hiding his face.” A harsh voice made Nadya look up.
She was surrounded, and none of the faces showed gratitude. One man said, “Remove your mask, Nomori.”
Me? She wanted to shriek in their faces. That man just threatened the life of Kesali, and you want to harass me for saving your comrades? But she bit back her anger and slowly rose until she crouched on the balls of her feet.
“Take off that scarf,” Shadar ordered.
She couldn’t look at him. Nadya put all the strength she had left into her tired legs and leapt. She soared over their heads, and several pistol shots echoed behind her. She hit the side of a nearby manor, shattering stone. Her bloody hands clung to the side, and Nadya pulled herself up.
She made the mistake of looking back once. Shadar’s rapier was pointed up at her, and behind him, Marko stood silently, all color and hope drained from his face.
Chapter Twelve
Nadya didn’t care if anyone saw her. She bounded from roof to roof, carrying the sickly smell of smoke with her. Hot wind rushed past her. The buildings disappeared into a blur of gray underneath her as tears streamed across her face.
Her father was alive and safe, and that was all that should matter. But the weight of the zealot’s ultimatum pulled her downward, threatening to crush her. The pain of Kesali’s betrothal paled against this. That had twisted her insides, but the zealot’s words turned her limbs to stone and swept her down into a Great Storm of her own. She drowned as she fled toward home.
If she had any doubts that the betrothal would change her feelings toward Kesali, for good or ill, they vanished.
With a grunt, she leapt over the white marble wall separating the second tier from the Nomori tier. Nadya landed with a thud on the roof of the bathhouse. Her hands slipped in beads of moistures as she slid down its wall. When her boots touched the ground in the culvert alley, she tore off her cloak.
She sprinted through the streets with it clutched under one arm. She wanted to throw it away, but Nadya knew with cold, gut-clenching reality that she’d need it again before the sea receded.
This neighborhood of the Nomori tier was quiet, unusually quiet. Wives and mothers peered out of doors, waiting for their husbands and sons to come home from the Guard, watching the smoke rise from the other side of the city.
She stopped in front of her house, breathing heavily. Gripping her cloak, she went into the culvert alley and began climbing the outside wall. There was a small gap between the wall and roof, and Nadya shoved her cloak in.
When she opened the door, Mirela rushed up to her. “Are you all right? Where is your father? I saw—”
“He’s alive. He will be fine,” Nadya said hoarsely. Her throat burned from the smoke, but she did not dare let on. “The Guardhouse was attacked by a mob. Some were killed. I don’t know how many.”
Mirela hugged her, whispering, “I feared the worst. The Protectress truly was watching over you.” She stepped away and pulled a cloak from its peg on the wall. “I must go and tell the others. They need to know what happened.” She paused, eyes roving over Nadya.
She tucked her burn-covered hands behind her back. “Go. I will be fine.” Nadya managed a smile as her mother gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before rushing out. She stood there for a long moment in the empty house. Then she walked over to their barrel of boiled water and ladled some into a bowl. Soaking her hands into it, she sighed. What she had done was stupid and dangerous, but she could not be gladder she’d made the choice.
Nadya had bandaged up the burns and was sitting up in her loft by the time her mother returned a few hours later, coughing. Not ten minutes later, her father walked through the door. He dropped his soot-covered jacket on the floor without a word.
“Welcome home,” Mirela said, embracing him.
Nadya bounded off her ledge. “Papa!” She joined them both. Her father smelled of ash and sweat, and though he managed a weary smile, it didn’t reach the grimness in his eyes.
Within a few minutes, Nadya had a new pot of tea on, and Shadar was seated on the floor cushions, sipping a glass of water. He kept shaking his head. “I thought I knew this city. I was sorely mistaken.”
“Surely it’s nothing but the fear of the floodwaters,” Mirela said, stroking his arm. “Two months is a long time for our city to be shut down. People are scared that food will run out, nothing more.”
“It is not fear that demanded the head of the Stormspeaker,” Shadar said. “And it’s not fear that killed sixteen of my men. It was pure evil. It has festered here for twenty years, and now the floodwaters provide a rich breeding ground.”
“More good than bad has come of our people enter
ing Storm’s Quarry. I have to believe that.”
“I fear that good is about to be undone.” Shadar thanked Nadya with a nod as she handed him a cup of hot tea. “First a murder that solved itself, yet I still cannot explain it. Then a suicide bomber at the theater. More murder. Riots. An attack on the very headquarters of the city’s military force. And now a masked man with the strength of twenty men leaping across rooftops.”
Nadya felt very odd. She stood quietly to one side as her parents spoke, not really sure what to add to the conversation. When her father called her a man, relief whooshed through her. He hadn’t recognized her, and with the image of the cloaked figure as a man planted in his mind, it was likely he wouldn’t see the truth unless she revealed herself.
“What? Nadya didn’t mention that,” Mirela said. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t know. All I do know is that he very probably saved my life and the lives of half a dozen guardsmen. But it was like something I had never seen before. He wore a cloak, hood, and a mask across his face, all gray. He walked through fire as if it were only fog.”
Maybe it looked that way, Nadya thought as she glanced down at her wrapped hands. But it certainly wasn’t a stroll down to the square.
“He lifted me up with only a hand. Hit through solid brick. Mirela, it was nothing of this world.”
“Was he Nomori?” Mirela asked.
“I believe so, though I couldn’t be sure with the smoke.”
Nadya’s chest buzzed so hard she thought it might explode. Now she would have to watch herself even more. Perhaps forgo her nightly escapades altogether. Her parents might not suspect her, but they now knew there was someone like her out there, and Nadya needed to distance herself as much as possible from the gray-cloaked figure.
“Well,” Mirela said after they were both silent for a while, “at least he appears to be on your side. He saved lives, and for that I could not be more thankful to him.”
Nadya’s face grew warm and she looked down. It had been some time since she’d heard her mother speak like that about her.
But Shadar grabbed Mirela’s hand. “Don’t be so quick to hand him a hero’s crown.”
“What?” Nadya said before she could stop herself.
“I know you want to give this man praise, and perhaps he does deserve it. But temper your gratitude. A man of that power can only mean bad things for our city.”
“But he helped you,” Nadya protested. Her throat had gone dry. “Papa, he saved your life!”
“And he is out of my control, and the control of the Duke. It doesn’t matter whether he means good or ill. He’s like a storm, a Great Storm, every bit as dangerous as that zealot.”
Nadya could not reply. Her lungs felt deflated, like a rock sat her on chest slowly forcing the air out of them. She was not like the zealot. She would never…I’d die before putting Kesali in danger, she swore to herself. It didn’t matter how angry she got at the Stormspeaker. I will die first.
“I need to take a walk,” Nadya said finally. When her parents started to protest, she added, “Don’t worry, I’ll stay within the block. I just need some air.”
Shadar nodded. “Return home the instant there is any trouble.”
After leaving her house, Nadya struck out at a fast pace down the street. The damp air had little effect on soothing her nerves. She passed more than one home with the door bolted and windows nailed shut. The entire tier had a distinctly unfriendly atmosphere. The few people who walked the streets kept their heads down, their hands close by their sides.
The attack on the Guardhouse sent a message loud and clear to the city, one that could not be overwhelmed by the Duke’s reassurances. If we can do this to the military stronghold of the city, think of what we can do to you.
Nadya imagined it would only get worse as the solstice drew near and the city’s resources dwindled.
*
She couldn’t be sure where it started, whether a couple of Nomori guardsmen swapping stories on the way to the public bathhouse, or an Erevan guardsmen speaking too loudly after his third glass of ale, but Nadya first heard the name a week after the attack on the Guardhouse, while she was in the market buying ingredients for more soothing tea for her mother. The store was picked over, everything remotely fresh gone from its shelves. Shoppers moved quickly, casting narrow-eyed glances at everyone else as if it was a race to see who would get the last bunch of yellowed carrots. In a few weeks, it very well might be.
For the past week, Nadya had wrestled with herself about visiting Kesali. She was still very angry at her friend for keeping the betrothal from her, for assuming that things could continue the way they were between the two of them. But Kesali had received a very serious death threat, and if Nadya were in her place, she’d want the comfort of her oldest friend.
She could always make the excuse that it was too dangerous to travel to the palace. Small fights, riots, were becoming a daily occurrence. Though none did the damage of the attack on the Guardhouse, the city’s hospitals were slowly being overloaded. Few people went far beyond their street without a weapon.
A couple of old Nomori men, retired guardsmen from their stances, stood in one corner of the store, sharing a cup of weak tea. “Haven’t caught sight of him since, the lieutenant told me,” the taller one was saying.
“Have they set out on a manhunt yet? Can’t be too many places in the city for someone like him to hide.”
The first man shook his head. “From what I was told, they have more than enough to keep them busy without chasing around some lunatic in a cloak.”
Nadya took her change, avoiding the gaze of either man.
“Good. Seems to me they can spend their time fighting the real threats, those filthy Erevans, and let the Iron Phoenix keep saving lives.”
The Iron Phoenix? Nadya hesitated, biting her lip. She wanted to ask, but it might look suspicious, so she quickly left the store.
It was not the last time she heard that name.
The railbox she took up to the Guardhouse later that afternoon to bring her father his lunch was full of people chattering about the incident at the Guardhouse—nearly all Erevan, they avoided sitting near her at all costs. But Nadya heard their conversations plain as day. They filled her chest with an odd, sour feeling.
“He has powers no man should possess.”
“Of course the freak is Nomori. Ask me, they haven’t been honest about just what they’re capable of, and this fellow proves it.”
“My father was saved by the Iron Phoenix. He said he punched through rock like it was water.”
Nadya kept her eyes low and counted her breaths until they reached the top tier of the city.
When she made it to the palace storehouse that was the temporary headquarters of the Duke’s Guard, Shadar was not pleased to see her. “Do you realize how dangerous it is now, to be out in the city?” he said as he browsed over forms on his desk.
“Do you want your beef roll or not?” Nadya asked, crossing her arms.
Shadar sighed and took the linen bag from her. “You have too much of your mother in you. Thank you, Nadya.” Like the rest of the city, the Guard was tightening its belt, and Shadar always went without rations before his men, preferring to bring his own food over taking it from the depleted stores the Guard had. His other officers did the same.
A smart knock on the door, and a guardsman entered. “Here is the sketch of the Phoenix you wanted. I’m having it printed up and hung around the city, but I’m afraid it won’t do a lot of good.”
Shadar gave a nod of thanks, and the guardsman left. Nadya caught a glimpse of the paper before he shoved it under the pile. It had a sketch of a figure in a gray cloak, only his eyes visible. She swallowed. It did not look like her, but it also did not overly not look like her.
“Phoenix,” her father muttered. He riffled through the lunch sack. “The entire city is talking about him. Do you know that they’ve named that masked man? The Iron Phoenix. Because he wore a gray clo
ak, and when he jumped away from the flaming Guardhouse, the men said he looked like a great bird who rose out of a blacksmith’s fire.”
“Oh.” Nadya stared at the ground. The Iron Phoenix. It was beautiful, in its way. A good name for a worthy cause. She didn’t care what her father said. She wasn’t the zealot, and she was not dangerous. She was here to help. If she could not save the city as Nadya Gabori, perhaps she could save it as the Iron Phoenix.
Chapter Thirteen
Nadya had to suspend her nightly runs since the Duke’s Guard was out in force. Without those outings, however, the days passed with excruciating slowness. She spent most of her time helping her mother, doing chores around the house, and buying food, which proved more difficult with every passing day. Half the shops in the Nomori tier had already closed their shutters, having no stock to sell.
Her morning walks with Kesali were a thing of the past, of a time when waves did not choke Storm’s Quarry and Kesali did not wear Marko’s betrothal necklace. Whenever the dull emptiness threatened to overwhelmed her, closing off her throat, she concentrated on the city. Kesali always put the needs of Storm’s Quarry first, and now Nadya threw herself into doing the same.
Every morning, she listened for news about the floodwaters. If her father was at home, a rare occurrence these days, he gave her the disappointing update. “The Mark of Recession is still buried far below the waters, too far down for any to see. The waters have yet to lower by a fraction.”
The Mark of Recession was a sun chiseled into the outer wall of Storm’s Quarry. When the Kyanite Sea went down enough for it to be seen, it was safe to open the gates and resume trade. As the days ticked by, Nadya read in her father’s expression what he did not say: if the waters were truly to be gone by the solstice, they should be receding more rapidly.
On the twenty-fourth day of the floodwaters, Nadya cracked her eyes open and yawned. It was barely after dawn. Hot, damp air filled her loft. She sucked in a deep breath and immediately started coughing.
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