by Lisa Morgan
A wooden mannequin holding armor stood beside her. A breeze shifted the tent wall enough to allow sunlight to peek through, and I found myself shielding my eyes from the glint off of the armor on display.
“Come, Maggie,” Seatha prompted, taking steps forward and offering her hand. “The time draws near, and we have much yet to do.”
We walked to the suit and Seatha lifted the breast plate, holding it out to me. I took the metal, examining it closer. It was far lighter in weight than it appeared, and I wondered if it was truly meant to be used in battle or if perhaps it was a highly detailed replica.
“It was made to feel light as a feather,” my friend explained, reading my expression. “But don’t worry. I assure you it’s as strong as any other our Realm makes, if not more so.”
There was no crescent moon on this one. Instead, a bird with its wings stretched toward the heavens and feathers looking to be a flame, graced the metal piece; the same symbol that flew proudly over my tent.
A Phoenix.
“This was your mother’s,” Seatha told me, running her hand over the sigil affectionately. “She wore this into battle many times. It seemed fitting that you should now don it as you go to war.”
I tried to picture my mother in this armor. In my mind’s eye, I almost thought I could see her blonde hair flying around her face as she lifted a sword above her head.
“It’s pretty,” I whispered.
The fairy laughed at my appraisal. “Pretty? I’ve heard of armor being referred to as a great many things, but pretty was not among them until now.”
She took the breastplate and slipped it over my head, pulling it flush to my chest and back. Moving, she grabbed the side clasps and began fastening the bindings. I kept my arms outstretched in a T as she fitted the metal to my body.
“I never did understand,” she remarked, trying to sound lighthearted, “Why the armory felt the need to construct breastplates with indentations for belly buttons.” I laughed at her comment, running my hand over my encased stomach and searching for the dent she was talking about. The metal was cool beneath my hand, and I could feel the Phoenix embossed on it.
“You’ll want these.” Seatha offered me metal shin and wrist guards, then took the shin guards back and began tying them to my legs. They were as light as the chest piece. She explained as she worked, not looking up, “All of these guards feel light. If they were heavier, walkers would tire too quickly, costing them their—”
We both sobered as the fae stopped herself. Seatha looked to my face, and I was sure she read my fear.
She stood, pushing me toward a tall mirror I hadn’t noticed in the tent earlier, and for the second time in recent memory, I didn’t recognize the girl whose reflection looked back at me.
Unlike the stunning vision I’d seen smiling back at me in the castle, this female had the look of a warrior, but wore the expression of a frightened child. I had to blink several times to remind myself that it was me who stood there.
The fairy looked over my shoulder, her small features barely visible in the glass. She rubbed my shoulders, helping me back to reality. Using her wings, she fluttered in front of me, blocking my view.
“We all fear the first battle,” she comforted.
I spoke absently, stroking my hands over the battle garb, “This isn’t me, Seatha. I’m not some fairy or vampire or whatever with battle scars and years of training. I’m just a human.”
“No,” Seatha answered, forcing me to look at her, “you’re not just a human. You’re a Phoenix, with more power inside you than any other.”
I whispered quietly to my friend, “I didn’t ask for this.”
“Who does?” Seatha questioned lightheartedly. “Who asks to march onto the battlefield with swords drawn? Who wishes to see their family and friends die fighting for something they believe in?”
“I’m scared,” I admitted aloud, looking into the fairy’s eyes and hoping to gather even a fraction of her strength.
She softened, checking my wrist guards. “We’re all scared, Maggie. It’s why we fight.” Seatha stepped back, turning me to stare at my reflection.
“As a child, I was told stories of the Phoenixes. Stories of how they’d ride into battle, wielding their fires, striking down their enemies—”
“But that’s not me! I’m not some mythic fighter, ready to lay down my life! I don’t even know how to use my power!”
I dropped my gaze to the floor, avoiding the fairy’s gaze and softening my words just above a whisper. “The whole Realm is depending on me, and I don’t know if I can do it.”
Seatha coaxed from behind me. “Look again.”
I raised my eyes to the mirror and found myself encased in fire. An amber glow surrounded me as the flames, almost transparent they were so pale colored, radiated from the exposed parts of my arms and legs not covered in my mother’s armor.
Seatha went on softly, “The strongest Phoenix garners their powers from the emotion they feel. They use their anger, their hurt, and their love, to burn bright. It’s all of those emotions that feed the fire and sustain it. You’ve always had this power inside you, Maggie. It was just waiting for you to call on it.”
The horn sounded and we turned, facing the tent flap. Three quick tones that ordered the forces to gather.
“Maggie, your time has come. Stand with us. Use your power and help us? I’m begging you.”
Her last words came out desperate, all pretense of the strong-willed fae vanishing as her eyes pleaded with me. I looked at my friend as my fires dissipated, and knew I’d march into battle. I would fight to help preserve this world, and in turn the human world I’d lived in for sixteen years.
I offered her a nod, and with a deep breath, watched her bow her head and leave my tent.
I looked at the greaves that my mother had once worn and studied the engravings. I felt connected to her is an unexplainable way, as I caught my eyes reflecting back at me. I turned to leave, but paused when feeling the cool metal of the charm around my neck that Liam had given me.
Carefully, I unhooked the chain, removing the oval while setting aside the chain that had held it. I pulled at the breastplate, tugging it forward a bit, and dropped the charm into my sports bra. It was like ice as it fell to my chest, but I needed something with me on the field, to remind me of all I’d gained in these last few days. Satisfied with the hiding spot, I made my way from the tent.
Seatha had waited outside the door for me, and I was thankful to not have to take this walk alone. As the fairy and I walked through camp, I could feel the weight of eyes on me. I saw small children and women of all species huddling together, their arms around each other. Some of the soldiers sent up cheers as we neared the front lines of the forces.
The king sat on a huge, muscular black horse. The knight beside him sat on a beast that looked like a giant pig with tusks, a flag bearing the silver crescent moon flying high from a wooden staff in his hands.
I caught a glimpse of Michel. He was in full armor, a long sword draped from his saddle. As he looked at me, he nodded his head. I nodded back, and he smiled confidently. I stopped in front of the king and bowed my head to him.
“Margaret Henning,” he boomed as the crowd silenced, “the final Phoenix. We welcome you to this field of battle.”
He offered me a bow and the crowd roared. With a raise of his hand, the soldiers grew silent. The king moved his hand to the crowd and they separated to form a path.
A knight dressed in black armor bearing the king’s insignia, made their way through the parted crowd. The knight carried something wrapped in what appeared to be burlap with reverence as they strode with determination toward me. As they passed through the crowd, onlookers bowed or took a knee in salute.
The knight came to a stop in front of me, offering the wrapped package as the king spoke, “This is the sword of Muriel Henning, your mother.” My eyes shot to the king, waiting for explanation.
“Many a battle was won by this blade,” h
e went on while the knight carefully unwrapped the cloth. The hilt was carved just like the picture on my breast plate, the wings curving over to shield the wielder’s grip. The blade shone bright and sharp, a far cry from a child’s toy. I took the blade from the knight and examined it closely. It wasn’t the same one Michel had offered me to learn with, and I wondered how large an armory my mother had once had.
It was as light as the armor I wore, but I could see it was razor sharp on both edges. I was tempted to run a finger over the blade, but felt a pang of guilt over possibly getting blood on such a remarkable looking sword.
Better hurry up and get over that, I warned myself, recalling Luc’s same warning to me.
“Will you take up arms with us, Margaret Henning?” the king asked of me.
I looked to the mounted leader and then back to the sword. I thought of Autumn and Seatha, who’d be standing in the crowd watching, thought of the hell my father had gone through for ten years to keep me safe. I thought of Michel and found myself looking to him.
He stood motionless, his eyes on me. I remembered how cool his hands were when he tucked my loose hair behind my ears, and I remembered the taste of his kiss on my lips. With a feeling of revelation, I knew what I had to do.
I raised the sword over my head as far as my arm could stretch, pointing the tip of the weapon to the sky. The crowd erupted in cheers around me.
I looked to the king. He bowed in response, then reined his horse around toward the battle field. Orders were shouted, and regiments of troops began moving in different directions to their appointed stations.
I took a moment to look at Michel. He was smiling at me, his eyes completely green and almost glowing. I smiled back as he pulled his helmet over his head and mounted his horse.
“Maggie,” I heard whispered. The knight in front of me who’d given me the sword bowed his head, even as those around me began moving in to their assigned positions.
I stammered, unsure of the formal protocol. “Thanks for the sword.” I turned to walk toward the horse I’d been given when I felt a grab at my wrist, stopping me. I turned back, my eyes following up the arm of the knight.
“You don’t have to do this,” he implored from beneath his helmet.
“Kind of too late for that,” I joked mildly with much effort, “but that information would have been nice about a week ago.” I turned to walk away, but his grip tightened, holding me in place. I tried to yank my arm free even as he pulled me closer to him. He pulled off his helmet with his free hand and threw his hair out of his face.
“Luc?” I gasped as I realized he was the knight holding my arm.
“You don’t have to do this, Maggie,” he pleaded with me. His voice was different. He sounded concerned for me; a hint of fear tainted his plea.
“I miss the arrogant Luc,” I quipped, trying to pull my arm free and feigning courage.
He begged, biting out the words, “Please. Don’t. Do. This.”
I saw the desperation in his eyes as he tried to convince me to avoid this fight, and I felt the weight of his words as they circled inside my head. Luc was genuinely worried about me.
I shook off his unease and finally freed myself from his grip. I took a few steps backward as I answered him.
“Luc, I have to do this, for everyone.”
“No!” he shouted. A few witches standing nearby were shocked by the force behind his words and turned their attention to us. I offered a nervous smile to the onlookers, who returned their attention to other things when they noted it was their prince and I exchanging words.
“Luc,” I complained. I took a deep breath and softened my words, “It’s too late. We’re marching now.”
“But you don’t have to, Maggie,” Luc whispered back.
“Yes, Luc, I do,” I replied as quietly. “I need to fight, for The Realm, for my family, for everyone. Am I scared? You bet I am, but that doesn’t change a thing.” Struggling to take a breath, I let determination control my voice. “Now, are you fighting with me?”
Luc looked at me, silent realization seeping into him that he wouldn’t be able to sway my decision. He grabbed my wrist again and pulled me close, our chests crashing together and his eyes searching my expression. My heartbeat quickened as he watched me.
His face changed from the sadness I’d seen earlier on the hilltop, to one full of rage and hate. His eyes morphed to bright green with those feline slits now his pupils, and his fangs descended into a warped smile.
He sneered at me, all notes of concern that had been in his voice now gone. “I tried to protect you, Maggie. You remember that as you draw your final breath. If you want to die, it’s your business. But I promise you, I won’t weep at your pyre.”
I watched him stalk off, wishing I could understand why he was so angry with me. I knew of his curse, and it pained me to think of him suffering. Luc could be a real cad, but I still found myself inexplicably caring for him.
My thoughts were interrupted by the horn again.
Putting on my helmet and swinging my leg over the horse I found before me, I gave a nudge to the steed’s side and made my way to the front line of the troops, searching for Michel. With each trod of the animal I rode, the truth of what was to come sank into my bones and stole a beat of my heart away.
Maggie Henning was riding to war.
Thirty Two
I wound my way on horseback through the lines of the marching army, scanning the mounted soldiers and looking for Michel. I’d spied Autumn and the covens. Their post was the western side of the field on a knoll above the fighting. The witch waved to me when I saw her, and I returned the gesture. She must have sensed I was searching for Michel because she then pointed toward the front of the cavalry. When I shifted in the saddle, I saw the prince giving orders to the soldiers nearest him.
The tension on the field was palpable, and the horse I rode danced sideways as he sensed it, too. I was positive that I’d need to dismount the beast soon or it would buck me off. I took to patting the animal’s neck and offering words of encouragement, although the words were more for me than the horse’s wellbeing.
The fae regiments were to stay at the back of the lines. Michel had explained to me last night that because they could fly fast and were so agile, they served us better in the back and could be called forward with little notice. I knew nothing of battle strategy, so I’d nodded my head in agreement.
Luc was leading a group of infantry, telling them where to position the sizeable trebuchets. He yelled out orders with each breath, and I found myself mesmerized at the prowess he displayed.
“He’s always been a leader,” Michel offered, his horse coming to stand next to mine as we observed his brother’s commands. The vampire’s expression as he watched his brother was a mixture of both pride and regret.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked, watching Luc, who never turned to glance at us. I suspected his deep seeded sense of vengeance and the curse he carried with him was the root cause behind his fierce determination.
“Even prior to the curse,” Michel answered my thought, “he knew what he wanted to accomplish. He disregards those who say ‘can’t’ and instead focuses on finding a solution. He is far braver and adept at war than I.”
“I don’t believe that,” I teased, kicking at the prince’s leg in the stirrup and trying to make light of what we were about to engage in. “You’re brave enough to put a chick who can burst out in flames at any time on a motorcycle full of gas. Some would consider that brave.”
Michel laughed at my comment. “Looking at it that way, I would suppose I am brave. But Luc also took you for a jaunt on his motorcycle.”
I remembered the night. I’d been so angry at Michel. A stab of guilt shot in me.
“Michel,” I started.
“No need,” the vampire replied, waving his hand. “I was hurtful to you, and I’ll forever regret that. However, the past is that, the past.” Michel leaned very close. “I intend to spend a considerable amount of
time making it up to you.”
The horn blared its call as his lips reached mine.
“I swear to the Gods,” Michel bit out against my mouth, “one day I’ll break that horn into a million pieces.”
I chuckled, pulling away and sitting upright on my horse. “I think it’s all about your timing. Maybe you should quit being so chivalrous all the time and just seize things when you want them.”
“Agreed.” He smiled. Without warning, he grabbed the reins of my horse, pulling the animal against his own. Ignoring the animal’s protests, Michel stretched and took the nape of my neck in his hand and pulled my lips to his, claiming a deep kiss. The horn blew again, but this time, we both ignored it.
When Michel pulled back, his green eyes were shining and his smile was vicious. I could see the chapped marks from the burn I’d given him beginning to heal.
“I think you’re correct. I should seize you whenever I can.” He gave a kick to his steed and pulled his reins. I smiled and felt the heat flushing my cheeks. I watched Michel gallop away, only pausing once to look back. He reared the horse up onto its hind legs and then raced toward the front.
Showoff, I smirked in his direction.
When Michel faded into the ranks of other knights and out of my vision, the humor I felt evaporated. Growing fear pressed against my chest. I looked around at the army, taking their positions and running through final check lists of weapons and last minute modifications to their battle plans. There were no tears, no signs of doom or fright worn on any of the soldier’s faces. Each set of features my eyes fell across showed nothing but determination and force of will.
I didn’t know the names of the troops around me, save for my friends and a few casual introductions at the king’s celebration, but I did know that each of them was here for the same reason—to save the world they lived in, to protect their families and their children. King Edwyn may have ordered them to battle, but I suspected by their expressions they’d have come on their own.
