Falling back down to Ohinyan, like that very first time. A broken laugh escaped her at the thought. Home. To her friends, to Alexander. Would they see her body falling from the aether? Or would there be nothing left but dust? A sky spirit. You’ll be a sky spirit. But would she? The aether was the space between worlds. What if she simply ceased to exist, like Erebus?
She thought of Altair’s words at Enne’s funeral as the golden, burning thing flew towards her. How he’d spoken of the dyings’ spirits joining Ohinyan. Of how they are the particles of dust floating in the sunlight as it shines through your window each morning. They are with us, always. Dust. That was all that she could give them now.
Fia didn’t know how far she fell. She didn’t know which parts of her were burnt and which parts of her were still whole. She wasn’t sure if she truly could see something flying towards her, or if it was just her stupid hope that had her hallucinating a winged ball of fire.
When all we are is a memory… what we achieve here now will be what’s left of us. Arion’s words rattled her thoughts as she fell through the endlessness of the aether, past star nurseries and colours and shapes she couldn’t comprehend.
She’d fought for her friends. For all of them. She’d done this for them. For Alexander. For Ohinyan. This is what you’ve given them. And it was worth it. Every minute of it had been worth it. A rasping cough broke free from her chest, a rattling, broken sound as her breaths came in short gasps. This was it.
But then the ball of flame reached her and threw its wings around her. A phoenix. It was the phoenix, Fia knew, even though she could no longer see anything clearly. She felt its embrace as it wrapped her in its wings and shielded her from the sun. She felt the energy of the bird’s blaze, but it didn’t harm her, it protected her. It was the same energy as her own. Healing, nurturing.
Golden light flooded everything, and the phoenix began to speak. “It was too much power for one person,” it said. It was neither male nor female, but its voice was soft, airy. Light. It was pure light. “Sleep.”
Fia wanted to protest, wanted to glimpse more than just golden feathers, but she couldn’t. Drowsiness tugged at her, dulled the pain, dulled the light, until her eyes closed, and she returned to darkness.
Chapter Thirty–Seven
Alexander
F or a moment, everything was golden. A silent eruption of light cut through everything, and Alexander threw an arm over his eyes. Then the city filled with cheering, from both sides.
She’d done it. Fia had done it. Alexander swallowed back the lump in his throat. He could barely breathe. Maab patted his arm in jubilation, Noor said something, but he didn’t hear it. Runa and Malachai embraced. But Alexander was still holding his breath.
Fia hadn’t returned.
In the time she’d been gone, they’d fought back Lorn’s forces, the last of her soldiers already rounded up.
The sun hung above them, exactly where it should have been at noon, blazing bright, the sky cloudless after the storm. But there was no sign of Fia, and that roaring, thundering shout filled Alexander’s head, his chest, his heart.
Soldiers were dancing. Witches were singing. A few of the Mizunese sent puddles into the air, turning them into ice and letting it fall back down like confetti around them. Even the Makya were celebrating.
Alexander searched the sky for Erebus’s shadows, a silent prayer to the sky spirits turning over in his thoughts. If anything could bring her home, it would be them. They had to.
“There!” Runa called out beside him, pointing to the sky.
A golden light fell towards them over the stone rooftops. No—flew towards them.
More had seen it now too, and all heads turned to the sky, pointing, murmuring in excitement.
But the last of Alexander’s hope was snuffed out when he glimpsed golden feathers in the light that flew towards them. Whatever it was, it wasn’t Erebus.
He pushed himself off the steps, touching down lightly on the wet cobblestones at the bottom where the golden light was headed. People stepped back in fear, arms thrown over their eyes to shield them from the light. But he wouldn’t look away. He had to see. He had to know.
His friends had followed him. He felt a hand on his shoulder, a touch at his elbow, to let him know they were with him.
The golden light came closer, so blinding they all had no choice but to cover their eyes or look away. But Alexander willed himself to look through the cracks of his fingers. He saw more of those golden feathers as it touched down, resting for a moment. And whatever it was, it seemed to look right at him.
He was certain he saw golden eyes amid a feathered face, but before he could study it, before his thoughts could form, it flew away. And as its glow lifted, Alexander brought his hands away from his eyes, blinking.
And then he saw her.
All the air rushed back into his lungs. “Fia!”
She was kneeling on the ground, then she lightly pushed herself to her feet, as if she hadn’t just returned from the space between worlds. As if she hadn’t just rekindled a sun.
He was beside her in a heartbeat, his hands on her face as she looked up at him, dazed, like she’d just woken from sleep.
“I’m fine,” she breathed, her hands pressing into his arms.
He studied her face, but there was no sign of any injury. “You did it,” he said. He worried if he let her go, she might not be real. That none of it was real.
She took a step closer and gasped. Alexander followed her gaze. All around them, everywhere they looked, were spirits. Sky spirits, but edged with blue, just like the spirits on Earth. For every living, breathing person that stood at the base of the palace, a handful of sky spirits stood beside them.
Alexander followed Fia’s gaze to Sophie, standing beside a man and a woman that must have been their parents. He fought back the stinging in his eyes as he saw Enne and Arion, Altair with his wife. His own parents.
They stood amongst his friends. Stood amongst soldiers. Filled every space as far as the eye could see.
Fia gave his hand a gentle squeeze as they looked around them—at Maab stepping in disbelief towards Enne beaming back at him. At Noor, standing in front of a young man.
“I thought there were rules?” Fia asked, with a bright smile.
Two spirits walked towards them, one that looked just like Fia, and Alexander knew at once that it was Terah. Her arm was looped through an angel’s with silver hair and grey wings. Erebus. He had died to save her. To save Ohinyan. I’ll spend the rest of my life making amends.
“This exception was unanimous,” Terah said, her smile echoing Fia’s. “But we are everywhere, all the time.” She looked towards Fia’s family as she said it, to Enne and Arion, to Alexander’s parents.
Fia took a step closer but didn’t let go of Alexander’s hand, and he followed her gladly. “You knew,” she said to Erebus. The black veins had gone, only the white tattoo remained. “You knew you would die.”
“I did,” was all he said. He looked brighter, somehow—it wasn’t just the glow of his spirit form, it was as if his ethereal form had fallen away from him entirely. Even his shadows could not survive the power of a sun.
Fia wiped away a tear and nodded. “Now what happens?” she asked Terah.
The first fire mother looked at them, her eyes shining bright. “You go on.”
***
The spirits did not linger—no one expected that they would. They remained long enough to say a few hushed words to their loved ones, before leaving to go wherever it is that spirits reside. It wasn’t a goodbye. Not this time. And something about that had made it easier to let them go.
The remainder of Lorn’s army had been rounded up; few had survived. There had been casualties on both sides, of course, and they’d wasted no time in giving the fallen a proper burial.
When the sun had finally set, they’d made their way, tired and weary, back to Okwata’s home. Ahrek was already waiting for them in the doorway, as if he’d be
en keeping watch.
“It’s good to see you, Ahrek,” Fia said, as they shuffled inside. Maab, Noor, Runa and Malachai were close behind. The scent of the azarna candles almost blotted out the stench of the battle.
The Asharian grinned at them, the first time Alexander had ever seen him truly smile. “Ohinyan is in your debt.”
He led them through stone corridors to the dining room and a long table overflowing with food, and around it stood Evina, Jax and Rainn, as bleary eyed and filthy as the rest of them.
Candles lined the room, alongside bright paintings like the one that hung in the room Alexander and Fia had been sleeping in. At the head of the table, Okwata sat in his chair, impeccably dressed in a black suit lined with gold, the perfect match to Ahrek’s.
Fia walked right up to the queen and took the young woman’s hands in her own. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the necklace Erebus had given her, pressing it into Evina’s palm. The queen’s eyes lit up and it reminded Alexander of the moment Fia had syphoned Lorn’s powers. He saw the moment the power passed from the necklace to Evina, and she smiled.
Everyone was silent as she fastened the necklace around her neck, tucked it into the top of her dress, and took Fia’s hands again. Everyone waited.
Evina closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. When she opened them, they were brighter than before, glassy and shining in the candlelight. “Thank you.” Her voice was lighter than it had been in that place she’d taken him to, the place she must have had to take anyone to speak to them, but the lilt in her words was stronger. “We heard about what happened—that which we did not see. We were on the north side of the palace.”
There was no doubting Fia had seen the power flow back into Evina too. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t back away from the queen. “Did you see your sister?” she asked softly.
“I did.” Evina might have lived without her voice for some time, but she still understood the weight that just a few words carried.
“And you?” Fia asked the angels beside her.
Rainn and Jax had been as silent as the others, and Alexander didn’t miss the way their uniforms had been singed in several places, or the dried blood that crusted Rainn’s neck.
“Aura,” Jax said softly, staring at the table piled high with food.
You go on, Terah had said. Because they can’t. Because everyone they’d lost had had that opportunity taken away from them.
“Please,” Okwata said, gesturing at the table. “I’m sure you all wish to eat and rest.”
But Alexander was sure he knew, as the rest of them did, that they would need time before they retreated to the quiet of their beds. Time to let the roaring of the battle dull to a quiet. He hadn’t missed the jugs of wine and ale that were dotted between every plate and dish either.
They sat around the table, Ahrek piling their plates as the soft murmur of chatter fell over them.
“When do you leave?” Fia asked Evina.
Alexander had barely been able to take his eyes off of her since the phoenix had returned her to Ohinyan. The phoenix, of all things. And it had come for her, for Fia. Healed her. If ever he prayed again, it would be to that phoenix. He didn’t think he’d breathed from the moment Erebus had left with her in his shadows to the moment he’d seen her on the cobblestones before him.
“Tomorrow. After dawn,” Evina said.
Alexander took a swig of wine to ease the tightening in his throat. Fia nodded at Evina’s words, blowing on a spoonful of diced vegetables.
“We’re going with them.” Every head turned to the head of the table, to Okwata, his eyes flicking to Ahrek, beside him, and he placed a hand over the Asharian’s. “To help Evina’s cause.”
To redeem himself. I’ll do whatever I can to set things right. Cross worlds, fight wars that were not his own. He was a man of his word; Alexander would give him that. There was so much that had been achieved in Ohinyan with his help, but Alexander knew Okwata well enough to understand that it wasn’t enough. Not until Randin was overthrown.
“And will you return when she is successful?” Fia asked, not a hint of doubt that Evina wouldn’t defeat Randin and take back her throne. Alexander didn’t doubt it, either.
“The Tahjiik are explorers. It’s in my bones to keep doing so.” Okwata’s hand remained on Ahrek’s as he spoke. “My research has told me of a world not unlike our own, a land full of people with pointed ears and powers similar to that which the Tahjiik possess. That is where we will go next.”
Ahrek nodded in agreement, taking a swig of his wine as he studied Okwata’s face.
Alexander thought of all the worlds marked out on Yggdrasil. Of Earth. Deganis. There was so much out there to be seen.
“I will be leaving too,” Maab said beside him. “To fight for Evina. To explore where Enne cannot.”
Alexander caught the way Rainn looked at him then, those mismatched eyes burning into the Nord, assessing. It was a look of admiration, Alexander thought. Of knowing.
The table fell quiet for a moment, until Fia finally said, “Enne would be proud. We’ll miss you.”
The Nord smiled at her; his pastel green eyes as bright as Alexander had seen them in weeks. “I’ll come back,” he said.
“You’d better.” Runa elbowed him gently. Malachai sat beside her, a hand on her knee.
Alexander looked at all the faces around the table. At Noor, laughing at something Evina had said.
Tomorrow they would all go their separate ways, and he knew it was unlikely that they’d all be gathered at one table ever again.
“And here?” Evina asked. “What of Ohinyan?”
“We’ve only just begun,” Alexander said. “First, the people of Djira will need help getting back on their feet.” He looked to Noor. “We’ll need to continue to strengthen our new alliances. Find a better way to serve the spirits of Earth. There is much to be done.”
“And now we have the time to do it,” Noor said, with a knowing smile at Fia.
Time. Fia had given it to all of them. You go on.
He studied her face as she laughed at something Maab said. As Ahrek piled another spoonful of potatoes onto her plate. He saw the way the candlelight made her cuff sparkle, and absentmindedly he reached out a hand to trace his fingers over it.
She caught his gaze and smiled, and it was Erebus Alexander thought of as he made a silent promise to make every day matter. For those they had lost. For Ohinyan. For her.
His fingers found hers and he twined them together, lifting her hand to his lips to press a soft kiss to her fingers.
They would go on.
Together.
Chapter Thirty–Eight
Fia
F ia awoke beside Alexander in a tangle of limbs. She studied his face as he slept, the way the waves of his hair fell across it. She traced a hand down the thick muscles along his arm, his eyes opening at her touch.
He took her hand in his, his gaze catching on the golden cuff at her wrist. It would be dawn soon, and Fia didn’t want to miss it, didn’t want to miss another moment of living. They’d woken up, and there were hundreds just from the day before that would never get that opportunity again. Like Altair.
“It’s so hard not to miss them, isn’t it,” she said softly.
Alexander pressed a gentle kiss against her hand. “I think Altair had been waiting for it, for a very long time.” He frowned. “But that doesn’t make his absence any easier.”
Fia nodded. There would be no secrets this time, she’d decided. No matter how difficult the truths were. “Terah sent me visions of Erebus, to show me who he was before his imprisonment.” It wasn’t a confession—she just wanted him to know. Wanted him to know everything. “He wanted to change, and I ignored it. I thought it was all another trick.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Alexander said, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. There was no judgement, no anger. Only understanding. He twirled the lock of hair between his fingers, his head resting on his ar
m.
Fia sighed. “Gabriel orchestrated Erebus’s imprisonment. I can’t imagine being betrayed like that by someone I looked on as my brother. And the worst part is we will never know what truly happened.”
“We will tell his story the way we experienced it,” Alexander said. “He will not be forgotten. None of them will.”
Fia tried to shake away the memory of Erebus fading away between her fingertips. He’d had a lifetime to let his grief harden him, to turn him into the ancient darkness that the world knew him as. But somehow, he’d managed to break through it, to soften. To feel. Maybe that had been his mistake, for all those years alone, trying to shut it all out. But he’d succeeded where Lorn had failed.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, recalling the moment Lorn fell down the steps into her arms. “Do you think we could have helped Lorn?”
The bed dipped as Alexander moved beside her. “I don’t know. She said she cared for her brother. But you heard her, she said there was no coming back from what she’d done. That she’d made her decision. And she had. She was going to kill you.”
“I just can’t help but think that if Erebus could change, couldn’t she?”
Alexander sighed. “She chose, Fia. She let the fire mother’s powers win. That’s something we have to accept.”
It could have just as easily been her, couldn’t it? But Fia was aware of every choice she’d made, every moment she’d felt that the power was too much, like the weight of everything was too consuming.
She looked up at Alexander, at the way his eyes flickered across her face, and she felt as if her heart had been cracked open.
He pressed a soft kiss to her lips and murmured, “Come on, we’re going to miss it.”
They dressed in a rush and made their way up to Okwata’s observatory. The others were already out on the balcony, waiting, watching. They’d all be gone soon but it didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a beginning.
The sky was grey, as it had been for so many days as the second sun died, the city below them eerily still. One of the grain towers leaned precariously into another, the wall was shattered, several of the bridges too. Rubble was everywhere. But they’d survived. The citizens of Djira had lived.
The First Dawn (Daughter of the Phoenix Book Three) Page 28
