Shadow of the Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  “Nadezhda? Nadezhda Gabori?”

  An unfamiliar voice, male and carrying the strong tones of Erevo, broke through the noise of the market square, cutting Shay off. She swallowed back a curse word and looked up from the spot of dirt she had been intently staring at.

  Instantly, her feet shifted into a ready stance. She held her hands loosely at her sides, but the air shimmered ever so slightly with heat. Her blades lay just below the surface of her skin, tingling with power.

  A young man, brown haired and wearing the bright white sash of a messenger, slipped through the crowds. “Miss Gabori?” he asked again.

  At her side, Shay felt Nadya shift. While she still stood with casual ease, Shay knew she could lunge forward and snap a neck faster than anyone else could take a breath.

  “And you are?” Nadya asked.

  He looked between the two women, before his eyes settled on Nadya. “No one, miss. Only a messenger, here with a delivery from your father.”

  “My father?” Nadya whispered, as if she didn’t dare believe it.

  Shay felt her insides tighten with anger, and she hated herself for it. It’s not Nadya’s fault that she’s got a family, or at least part of one, that still cares for her. She did not drop her guard. It could still be a trap of some sort, and a not-very-small part of her wanted it to be.

  “He sends this message to you, Miss Gabori.” The young man reached into the satchel belted around his chest and pulled out a tightly rolled parchment. A single seal adorned it, the wax depicting a sun. “The seal of the Guard,” Nadya muttered as she took the message. “Thank you.”

  “Just doing my job, miss.”

  “I bet,” Shay said, unable to keep her annoyance from flooding her words. “Waiting on this, are you? Well, take it and be off.” She tossed a single copper to the suddenly frowning messenger, and turned to Nadya. “You don’t need to read it, you know.”

  Instantly, she regretted her words as Nadya’s posture turned defensive, and she cradled the parchment against her chest as if she feared Shay might burn it.

  Truth be told, the thought had crossed Shay’s mind.

  “Why wouldn’t I? Papa understood why I left. He knew it before I did, to be honest. He would not send me a missive if it wasn’t important.”

  Shay took a deep breath. If she stuck her tongue in it now, Nadya might be furious at her for days. “All I meant was…you’re getting away from all that. You’re building a life.” With me. “You don’t have to go running just because Storm’s Quarry thinks it needs the Phoenix to solve all its problems. Not to mention, half that city wants you dead. They want me dead, too, by the way. There’s no way of knowing that this isn’t a trap to lure you back now that the Guard has regained its strength.”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Nadya whispered fiercely, clutching the parchment. Her other hand curled into a fist, white-knuckled fingers charged with enough strength to crush stone. “He’s Guardmaster now. He wouldn’t let them…”

  “You don’t know that, Nadya,” Shay said softly, touching her shoulder.

  Nadya jerked away. “I do.” But the waver in her voice betrayed her. With trembling fingers, she opened the parchment. She did not move when Shay stood over her shoulder to read the note.

  Nadya,

  I write in hopes that this will find you wherever you are traveling. Unfortunately, it is not a message of good tidings.

  Your mother has entered the final stage of her illness. The medicine no longer soothes her cough, and her lungs struggle for every breath. It won’t be long now before she joins the Protectress for her journey to the next realm.

  She calls for you, Nadezhda. She wishes to make it right before she passes.

  I cannot expect you to come, not after how she threw you from our home, and I, to my great shame, let her. I can only hope you one day find it in your heart to forgive us. To forgive your people.

  In case you wonder about the city, it is quiet, though I do not expect it will stay that way for long. Our people dance in the fountain square on clear nights, honoring the stars as they always do. Kesali asks after you. I know she worries for you and wishes to hear your voice.

  I do not know when we will see each other again. Until then, you have my love.

  Your Papa

  Shay let out the breath she had been holding. “He’s not asking for the Phoenix. No impending crises, I guess.” No reason to go running back. “I am sorry about your mother, Nadya. She made her choice, and well…at least she regrets it.” More than my family.

  Nadya acted like she hadn’t heard. “Nomori don’t dance,” she muttered, staring at the parchment.

  “What?

  “We don’t dance.” Nadya looked up at Shay, her eyes shining wide with worry. “Papa knows that. Kesali and I scandalized the Elders when we danced together at the last Arane Sveltura festival.”

  Shay ignored the old flare of jealousy that rose in her chest at the mention of Kesali. “What does that have to do with your mother?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Don’t you see? It’s a message.”

  Shay raised an eyebrow. “Um, yes, it is.”

  “Don’t act like a fool. It’s a secret message, coded in case it fell into the wrong hands.”

  “And whose hands would those be?”

  “I don’t know.” Nadya shook her head. “I don’t know what’s happening in Storm’s Quarry, but something is wrong. Perhaps my father and Kesali really are requesting our help.”

  She can fix her own damn city. But Shay swallowed the words back. Nadya had made a promise to protect Storm’s Quarry when its need was great, and if she thought that time was now, Shay wasn’t going to be able to convince her otherwise.

  And stars take her if she wasn’t going to end up following Nadya back to that cursed place.

  “So your mother isn’t really dying?” Shay winced as the words came out far blunter than she had wanted.

  Nadya shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe. She has been fighting against the damp for years now. The damp of the city always wins, in the end. But it might just serve as a cover to write the letter.”

  “In case some unknown enemy gets ahold of it.”

  “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?”

  Nadya threw her hands out into the air. “Talking to me like I’m a foolish child who believes in fairies. This is real, Shay. I know it. My father wouldn’t send this message if Kesali—if the city didn’t need me.”

  Kesali. The name burned hotter than Shay’s own fire. The Nomori girl she once played with as a child turned Stormspeaker of their people turned Duchess-to-be of Storm’s Quarry. The woman who had captured Nadya’s heart for a long time, with whom, Nadya had admitted, she’d shared her first kiss. The Stormspeaker’s name should not have bothered Shay as much as it did, slipping under her skin like a swarm of stinging gnats; after all, Kesali was married to the Duke’s son, and Nadya had left the city before the wedding, choosing to come with Shay and the caravan.

  Choosing Shay.

  But it did hurt, a dull ache that expanded from her chest out to her fingertips. Because, within the darkest parts of Shay’s mind, she had always known that the instant Kesali called, Nadya would go running. And damn anyone who got in her way.

  I guess I was right. Bitter gall rose up in her throat. “You’re going, then.”

  “Yes, I have to. They need me,” Nadya said matter-of-factly. She tucked the parchment in her belt.

  “She needs you.”

  “What?”

  “Kesali calls for you, so you run back to her. Like a puppy begging for scraps.” She knew her words were cruel, that Nadya needed support from her now, that she had been dealing with the messy knot of feelings that Storm’s Quarry left her, but Shay couldn’t hold her own bitterness back. “Never mind who you leave behind.”

  Nadya’s eyes widened. Her mouth opened slightly, as if she had been struck. Apparently, unlike a physical blow, Shay’s words had the power to stagger her. In the
midst of the bustling market, they stood facing one another in a world apart.

  Shay hated herself for the surprised hurt her words had brought upon Nadya’s face. You’ve never been a good enough person for her. This just proves it.

  “I’m not—Shay, I chose you,” Nadya said softly. “I’m not going back because of anything that might have happened between us.” She reached out to her, but Shay, as the voices rose in her mind—You’ve always been a terrible person. She deserves someone who trusts her, who stands by her side no matter what—batted the hand away, and Nadya let her.

  “You keep saying you don’t regret your choice, but you have a poor way of showing it, you know.” Shay kicked at the ground. “I sure never asked for you to leave her, and I am not going to stand in your way. True love and all that, right?” Tears stung the edges of her eyes and burned away. “I have work to do. Travel safe, Nadya.”

  She turned around and left Nadya standing in the middle of the market, gaping.

  * * *

  The forgemaster said nothing as Shay stormed into the smithy. Silently, she threw on one of the heavy aprons that hung on the crooked hooks fastened to wooden beams above them. She took up a pair of tongs, for show. She could reach into the white embers and pull out the melted ore with her bare heads. As strong as the anger and self-loathing that fought inside of her, she’d probably char the ore with her fire if she touched it.

  If Jeta noticed that she’d been crying, or the slight jerkiness in her movements, she said nothing and got back to work.

  They found their rhythm quickly, moving to the steady hiss of the bellows. Shay pulled each pipe out of the forge; Jeta took each one to the anvil, her hammer shaping the soft metal with expert swings. The pipe switched hands again, as Shay put it back to the heat for further shaping. Round and round they went until Jeta silently proclaimed a piece fit, sinking it into a vat of water, calling forth a storm of steam that filled the silence for a few seconds.

  Hours passed. Shay fell into the familiar patterns of the smithy. Despite all her complaints, she had always loved Jeta’s work. It allowed her to pull back from the world, to discard her thoughts, to lose herself in the intricate movements of the forge.

  As she worked, her mind quieted, her inner flame slowly patterning itself after the consistent embers of the forge. Shay breathed in iron-tinged smoke, and the knot in her stomach loosened a bit.

  Nadya would go to Storm’s Quarry, she knew. To reunite with her mother, who had turned her out after learning of her nivasi blood, if nothing else. But Nadya was sure of the note’s hidden meaning, and nothing Shay could say would dissuade her of it. Shay’s choice, therefore, lay in whether or not she chose to follow.

  But was it worth risking her heart for someone who might run after another?

  Damn it all, Nadya was worth it. Shay shook her head at her own foolishness. There had never been a choice, had there? Stormspeaker or not, Shay would follow Nadya past the edge of the world.

  “I’m being an idiot again, aren’t I?”

  The forgemaster remained silent, only the slight shrug as she bent over the anvil indicating she had heard her apprentice speak.

  Shay knew from long experience this was an invitation to keep talking. “Maybe my worst fears are true. Maybe she’ll finally see me for what I am. Maybe she’ll run back into the Stormspeaker’s arms, and I will be left standing outside the gates of that damned city alone. Forced to come back to you and slave away at a forge for the rest of my life,” she joked, but her raw tone made the forced levity fall flat.

  “So do not go.”

  Shay wiped her sleeve against her eyes. “That’s the end of it, isn’t it? Only thing that would hurt more than seeing her fall into Kesali’s arms is letting her go, knowing I was the one who chose to give her up. I saved Storm’s Quarry for her. Faced my old family for her. The least I can do is trust her now. Try to be the person she thinks I am.” Shay shrugged off the apron. “I’ve got to go.”

  Jeta’s hand closed in around her wrist, her callused hand a familiar comfort. The forgemaster’s dark, unreadable eyes softened as they met hers. “You are that person, Shay. Never doubt it.” She released her grip and turned back to forge. “Be sure to say farewell this time.”

  Shay swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Of course.”

  * * *

  Nadya was alone in the canvas tent the three of them had been given in the caravan line, a spacious dwelling with room for a fire pit and several bedrolls. Of course, their tent currently only had one bed, as Jeta preferred to sleep in the forge and Nadya and Shay preferred each other’s warmth.

  Here in this tent, as they traveled south with the caravan, they’d first made love. Slowly, in the beginning, they learned one another as they fumbled through the awkwardness and hesitation. Time passed and Shay soon memorized Nadya’s every curve and freckle. She’d learned that Nadya’s hesitance to touch her came not from indecision, but the fear of hurting her. I trust you, Shay had whispered over and over again, I trust you, Nadya. Eventually, Nadya began to believe her. As the sun finished setting, the small fire within their tent illuminated Nadya’s silhouette as she moved through the space, throwing her few belongings into a knapsack. Shay stood outside, watching her. The words she needed kept falling away as she tried to compose an apology.

  I am sorry I was such an oaf. I am sorry I thought you would leave me for Kesali. I am sorry for not trusting you after promising that I did. Every line felt inauthentic, and Shay swore aloud.

  Nadya’s silhouette stiffened and turned toward the tent flap, and Shay silently cursed her nivasi hearing.

  “Shay?” Nadya called, and Shay’s heart broke at the hope in her voice. Instead of hating her, as Shay’s behavior warranted, Nadya seemed hopeful that she might get to see her.

  Screwing up what remained of her courage, Shay pushed the flap aside and walked in. The flames of the small fire pit rose and flickered, feeding off her far-flung emotions. Shay took several breaths and tried to calm herself. Setting the entire caravan camp ablaze might be a welcome distraction, but it would not solve anything.

  “Nadya, I—”

  “You have soot on your face,” Nadya cut her off gently, her eyes saying, It’s okay, I forgive you, in a way that words never could.

  Shay smiled in spite of herself. “Too embarrassed to be seen with me, then?”

  “Never.” Nadya caught her arm in the nearly too strong grip that Shay had grown to love. “Not now, not at Storm’s Quarry. I am not doing this for Kesali.”

  Shay wanted to say, I know, I know you would never leave me, but the words stuck in her throat. She was spared having to answer as Jeta entered their tent. In her hands, she held Nadya’s armor, as perfect as it had been the day she forged it.

  “Thank you,” Nadya said quietly, taking it carefully. She placed it upon her pack, where her newly mended cloak lay.

  “I guess it’s farewell, then.” Shay cleared her throat. She’d spent plenty of time away from Jeta in the years since the older woman took her in. But this…this felt more permanent somehow. She had a terrible feeling curling around the base of her spine, that whatever had transpired in Storm’s Quarry, whatever the message from the Guardmaster meant, she’d lose this.

  “For now,” Jeta said, as if she sensed Shay’s churning thoughts. She wrapped a single arm around her apprentice. Shay breathed in the scent of ash and iron, of safety, as she had come to know in the years since Jeta rescued her from Storm’s Quarry.

  “For now,” Shay agreed, releasing her. She hoped her words were true.

  “Nadya.”

  Beside her, Nadya stiffened. Shay didn’t blame her. She was pretty sure this was the first time Jeta had spoken to her partner by name.

  “Yes, Forgemaster?” Nadya said, eyes flitting to Shay for a brief moment.

  “Protect her.”

  “I don’t need protection,” Shay argued, indignant at the suggestion. She had saved Nadya plenty of times; not to mention
, when they’d fought at first meeting, Shay had been winning before they recognized each other. She could take care of herself.

  But Jeta ignored her, staring intently at Nadya, her black eyes unreadable. The soft flames of the fire pit illuminated the deep lines of Jeta’s face, giving her an age that she rarely seemed.

  “Please, protect her. In this life, she matters most to me, and I am entrusting her to you. Do not take that lightly.” The forgemaster’s gaze never wavered from Nadya as she spoke.

  Shay’s protests died on her lips as Jeta’s words sank in. “Oh.” Heat rushed to her face. She knew that Jeta cared for her; it certainly was not her work ethic or talent at the forge that made Jeta put up with her for the past years. To hear it so clearly articulated, in a way so unlike the stoic forgemaster—Shay swallowed back the lump that had formed in her throat.

  Beside her, Nadya solemnly nodded, as if accepting a responsibility from the Duke of Storm’s Quarry himself. “I understand.”

  Shay glanced from one to the other as the two most important people in her life, the two only important people, shared a look that she hoped to one day understand as well.

  Chapter Three

  The road north to Storm’s Quarry held little traffic outside of Kipperwell, and even less scenery. The scrubby brushlands of the South Marches soon gave way to the softer meadows that sprawled from the northernmost point of the Marches up until the mountains of Wintercress. Groves of pines trees dotted the landscape, and from within, Nadya heard the sounds of woodpeckers and squirrels. She listened to them as they went about their business, and it brought some measure of calm to her racing heart.

  Several hours into their trek, a lone figure appeared on the road ahead. Shay nudged her. “Don’t like the look of that. But we can handle it if anything goes poorly.”