by Jen McIntosh
They walked together, hand in hand, through the market. She looked lovely, her cheeks still rosy from their lovemaking earlier that morning. He’d had her twice since sunrise, but he wanted her again. She was like fine wine – once he’d tasted her, he only ever wanted more. She sensed the desire heating in his blood and glanced over her shoulder at him with a wicked smile on her lips and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Before he knew it, she’d dragged him down a side street and was kissing him senseless. He lifted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and bunching her skirts about her hips. She moaned at his touch, burying her head in the crook of his neck to silence herself while he took her against the wall. His own climax almost brought him to his knees, and she covered his mouth with her own, swallowing his roar of pleasure.
Renila jerked out of the memory, breathing deep to slow her racing heart. But Alvar dragged her back under.
‘I love you,’ her voice whispered in the darkness. ‘Nothing will ever change that.’
Alvar smiled sleepily. ‘I know.’
‘No matter what, promise me you’ll never question that. Promise you’ll always remember this moment, no matter how dark things get, and know that I love you more than anything in the entire world.’
‘I promise,’ he murmured, pulling her body against his as he kissed her into insensibility. She melted against him, yielding to him completely.
Renila pulled back, scrambling away from him as tears flooded her eyes. She had sensed the bitterness with which he recalled the memory, but more than that – she remembered the pain it had caused her. She didn’t understand why, but speaking those words had been like driving a knife into her own heart.
‘Those were the last words you ever spoke to me,’ he said in a dead voice, unable to meet her gaze. ‘When I woke in the morning, you were gone.’ She pressed a hand against her mouth, unable to find the words to comfort him. He heaved a great sigh and looked up at her. ‘Now you know.’ She shook her head, unable to speak. What agony had she caused this man, this beautiful, brave man who had given so much for her? But there was no reproach in his eyes, only his own guilt for whatever he had done to push her away. ‘You should get some sleep.’
With that he stood and strode from the room.
When Renila found the courage to leave the cabin, she found Arian and Ornak had returned. Arian had built up a campfire, having deemed the paltry hearth within insufficient, and was now raiding Ornak’s pack – though for what was a mystery. The tattooed man sighed in exasperation at the liberties she took with his possessions, but he said nothing. Instead, he took her bow and arrow from where she’d dumped them by the door and disappeared off into the mountains. An hour later he returned with the carcass of a young buck slung over his shoulder.
‘It’s a bit skinny,’ Arian observed.
Ornak’s grin was feral.
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to go hungry?’ he suggested.
She smiled sweetly, but her eyes flashed in warning. ‘That’s the point. I’ve seen your appetite and that won’t feed all of us.’
‘Have a little faith,’ the big man said, handing her a knife. ‘Now make yourself useful while I get started on supper.’ Arian scowled and did as she was bid, flashing a grateful smile at Alvar when the Immortal offered to help her skinning the poor beast. It didn’t take long for the meal to come together and before she knew it, the smell coming from Ornak’s cooking pot had Renila’s stomach growling in protest. She was starving. Ornak chuckled and handed her a rough oatcake to tide her over.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, nibbling on the edge while she studied him. ‘Who are you?’
His eyebrows quirked upward. ‘My name is Ornak – I’m a friend of Arian’s.’
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ Arian muttered, picking dried blood out from under her nails with the tip of her dagger.
‘We were children together,’ he clarified. ‘I served Kah Thoran – High Chieftain of Ciaron, leader of all Dragons.’
Renila glanced at his tattoos. ‘Is that what those are? Dragon-marks?’
Ornak nodded, flexing an arm so they caught the light. ‘Youngest son of the Hal Chieftain, but the only one born into the clan. My brothers are all Az Clan, like their mother.’ Renila stayed silent, unsure what to make of that pronouncement – understanding neither what it meant nor why it had caused Ornak’s gaze to shutter. Arian seemed to notice his disquiet and kicked him in the shin. He shook himself with a snort and continued. ‘Arian was raised by Kalielle Half-Elven. She and Thoran were lovers for a time – they had a child together, so even when they broke with each other, we still spent a lot of time together.’
Renila glanced over at the Phoenix, not daring to meet Ornak’s eye any longer. ‘So you’re Kalielle’s daughter?’
‘Adopted daughter,’ she explained without looking up. But there was no hiding the pain in her voice. ‘I was a foundling, probably an orphan. Kalielle’s daughter was about my age, so she took me in. I stayed with her even when Thoran took Resari to live with him in Ciaron.’
‘Ciaron was a better place for her, and Thoran was always kinder than Kalielle anyway,’ said Ornak. ‘Not that it matters. They’re both gone now anyway.’ Renila’s eyes narrowed, her memory stirring at the mention of that name. But it made no sense. Resari was gone. Just like Kalielle and Kah Thoran and all those other names of myth and legend.
‘What happened?’ asked Renila.
‘The Fall. The day the Graced were brought to their knees, slaughtered in their thousands by the Shade King and his armies. There were survivors, but they were few and far between.’
‘We’re hunted,’ Ornak said. ‘We’ve been hunted every day since the Fall. Darklings want our power, to steal our life-force for themselves. Nightwalkers want to sell us to the highest bidder. The Gods only know what the Shade are after, but I can guarantee you it’s not good.’
Arian scowled at him and settled on a rock across from Renila. ‘Don’t frighten her,’ she admonished. ‘Darklings are strong and fast, but so are we. Nightwalkers are many, but they’re weakened by their curse. The Shade are powerful, but they’re not Immortal. Not like us.’
Renila nodded in understanding and finished her food in silence. The sun was long since set, and though the night closed in around them, their camp was flooded with moonlight. She wondered if that was perhaps deliberate. The chilly night air had her shivering, so she didn’t complain when Alvar offered her his cloak for warmth. She moved no closer than that though, unsure what to make of the memories he’d shared. The revelation of who she used to be mingled with the grief of losing Farran, losing Erion, the guilt within her … She wasn’t sure she’d ever make sense of her emotions.
‘Will you tell me about them? The Phoenix?’ Renila asked, looking to Arian. ‘Our people?’
Arian shrugged. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Anything. Everything.’
So Arian told her. Stories of fearless warriors riding birds of pure flame into battle. Of a city of glass, warmed by a mountain of fire. Of a proud and noble people who had smiled in the face of death long before they had the power to defy it.
‘How does it work?’ Renila asked.
‘We call it the Rising,’ Arian began. ‘It doesn’t start until your body is burned. Fire isn’t necessary, but it’s the easiest way – the body has to be destroyed in order for the magic to be released. Once it has, the resurrection begins.
‘The Rising is … it is the best and worst thing you will ever experience. The power flowing through you is euphoric. You’re defying death. You feel like a god. But the rest of it …’ She shuddered. ‘I’ve been through about a half-dozen, and the worst ones are always the ones you’re not expecting. The moments right before death stay with us through it all. Everything we feel as we die, we feel when we come back – only stronger. Fear, anger, love, hate. All of it.
‘You’re aware through the entire process. It hurts more than anything you can imagine, and it’s … confusing.
The magic doesn’t bring back our memories, so most of us use a memory stone,’ she explained, touching the blood-red gem adorning her finger. ‘It’s an ancient magic – one that can survive a Rising – that acts as a repository for memories, for our thoughts and feelings. The things that make us who we are. Everything I am is stored in this stone. So long as I’m wearing it when I Rise, I’ll remember everything … eventually.’
‘I used to have one,’ said Renila.
Alvar nodded. ‘You gave it up, before your last Rising. Gaelan told me. You had a hard labour with Erion; you knew you wouldn’t survive, and you wanted to forget everything – forget whatever drove you to her. You gave her the stone, told her to keep it from you so you’d have a fresh start when you Rose again. Then you died. That’s why you remember nothing from before Erion’s birth.’
‘I remember some things.’
Arian was toying with the fire again, her fingers curling and flickering as they mimicked the dancing flames. ‘A Riser can walk and talk without having to relearn the skills. A body remembers things that the mind forgets. We think of them as instincts, but they’re just a different memory.’
‘You said magic meant it might be possible to get my memories back – this is what you meant?’
He nodded again. ‘If Gaelan has the stone you wore before your last Rising, you can get those memories back.’
‘Looks to me like she took some precautions though,’ added Arian, eyeing the pendant in Renila’s hands. Renila held it out for the Phoenix woman to inspect. She tapped the ruby eye and nodded. ‘Memory stone.’
‘Gaelan must have given it to you after your last Rising, just in case,’ Alvar breathed with a wry chuckle. ‘I might have known.’
‘That’s no ordinary talisman,’ said Arian, studying the bird – the firebird. ‘It’s spelled with more than memories and glamours. There’s a shield-casting in here too, even some basic healing magic … and something else.’ She recoiled, frowning. ‘I’ve never seen magic like that before.’
Renila blinked. ‘Why go to all that trouble if I can’t be killed?’
‘We’re not Immortal,’ admitted Arian, still eyeing the talisman uneasily. ‘Our bodies weren’t designed to contain that much power. The magic required for a Rising is immense. The resurrection alone is confusing, not to mention that much power coursing through your veins. And even with a stone, memory recall isn’t instantaneous. The Rising is dangerous … for everyone.’
‘There’s nothing more deadly on this earth than a Riser,’ Ornak murmured. ‘Not even the Shade King would dare to face one.’
Arian grunted in agreement. ‘Worst of all, magic runs on emotion, and a violent death leads to a violent Rising. That’s how Kalielle defeated the Shade Princess Malia. She killed herself in the middle of the battlefield, used the power of her Rising to take Malia with her.’
‘A single Phoenix woman, untrained and barely out of girlhood, turned the tide of that war,’ said Alvar. ‘Imagine what an entire army of them could do.’
‘Don’t.’ Arian cut over him. ‘Just don’t.’
‘What happened to them?’ asked Renila.
‘The Fall,’ Arian sighed, leaning back and looked at the stars above, unwilling to elaborate.
Ornak nudged her. ‘Sing for us?’
She smiled softly and did as she was bid. Her voice was rich and throaty, full of hope and wonder. Renila did not understand the words, but she knew a lullaby when she heard one. It wasn’t long before she drifted into an uneasy sleep, wishing only for strong arms to hold her through the night.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Gaelan had stayed remarkably calm. She’d allowed Brer to lead them from the throne room without a fight and been delighted when he’d led them to a suite in one of the soaring towers. She and Brer had then exchanged hurried whispers before he’d left, promising to return as fast as he could.
The rooms were exquisite. Airy and opulent without being ostentatious. Suriya had noted Gaelan’s touch in everything from the decor to the artwork, the layout of the rooms and even the soft furnishings. The walls were the same white marble as the rest of the city, but most of them had been covered in the most incredible tapestries and paintings she’d ever seen. A mountain, capped with snow, beneath a night sky littered with stars, a castle of pure starlight perched atop it. A ballroom filled with dancers, their glittering gowns swirling around them like the northern lights.
The windows were framed by curtains of midnight velvet embroidered with silver thread, while silk cushions and white fur throws adorned the plush armchairs and chaise longue. Rich carpets covered the marble floor, and there was even a thick, white, bearskin rug before the fireplace. There was no fire burning in the hearth, but the room wasn’t cold. In fact, Gaelan had crossed straight to the full-length windows and thrown them open, before stepping out onto a balcony beyond.
Suriya and Lucan had lingered in the entrance. Her brother had looked around nervously, unsure of where to go, but she hadn’t been able to muster the strength to care. There were rooms beyond – bedrooms, a dining room, what looked like a painter’s studio – but she couldn’t summon the energy to investigate. She didn’t know how long they stood there, waiting for Gaelan to remember them. When she returned from the balcony, there was an air of contentment about her Suriya had never seen. She hated her for it. How could she remain so calm after all they had endured?
Gaelan had seemed to sense her rage. Either that or Lucan’s anxiety. ‘Are you alright?’
Beside her, Lucan nodded, but Suriya said nothing. Didn’t even acknowledge the question. She didn’t know what she felt beyond exhaustion. Gaelan’s gaze lingered on her, but for once, she didn’t press.
‘What’s going on?’ Lucan demanded. ‘Why does everyone seem so afraid of us? What does she mean, enter the Academy? And who is the Council?’
Gaelan heaved a great sigh, her eyes filled with regret, but Suriya saw no lie in them when she answered. ‘There are thirteen great Houses – each one ruled by a single leader, chosen by the rest of the House. The Council consists of those elected representatives – a committee that governs what’s left of our people.’
‘And you’re on the Council, aren’t you? Is that why they called you Brightstar?’
Gaelan nodded. ‘The leader of each House is given the title of Prince or Princess, but we rarely use it. It’s more common to refer to us by the name of the House we represent – the Swansinger, the Darkstorm, or in my case, the Brightstar.’
‘And Brer is the Crown Prince of Shadowfox.’ It wasn’t a question.
Gaelan answered it anyway. ‘It has become something of a custom to nominate an heir after a certain length of time on the throne, though the succession must still be ratified by general election. Brer’s father, Prince Eris, is the current Shadowfox. If anything were to happen to him, Brer would take his place until they could hold the vote, either ratifying his position or choosing his replacement.’
‘But Prince Eris is Immortal,’ Lucan objected. ‘What could possibly happen to him?’
‘Just because we are Immortal does not mean that we cannot die. You’ll learn more about it in the Academy, but there are none of that first generation of Immortals still living today.’
‘And what is the Academy?’
‘It is where our children learn control and discipline,’ she explained. ‘No child is born Immortal, and none can have that power bestowed upon them until they have graduated from the Academy.’
‘So they want to make us Immortal?’ Lucan asked.
Suriya snorted. ‘No, they just want to control us.’
Gaelan’s face remained impassive as she leaned back and considered them both. Suriya held her gaze. She was done cowering before this woman.
‘I don’t have a lot of time to explain all of this,’ Gaelan said. ‘We don’t even have time to eat, bathe or change. Brer has gone to call a Council session and could return any minute. When he does, you must come with me. I don’t want yo
u out of my sight until we’ve got a decision from the Council. Once we enter the chamber, you must stay quiet. No questions, no arguing. Don’t speak unless spoken to directly. Do you understand?’ They nodded. ‘Good. Bringing you here was the best chance I had at keeping you safe, but that security will come at a price – to you and me. It’s against our highest laws to bring strangers into our lands – especially people like you.’
‘People like us?’ asked Lucan.
‘She means the Graced,’ Suriya supplied, her gaze fixed on Gaelan, challenging her to dispute the claim. She had, after all, once claimed the Graced were only a fairy tale. A bedtime story for children. So many lies. It would be a wonder if the woman could tell the difference between them and reality.
But Gaelan only nodded. ‘Yes. My people created your kind as foot soldiers to fight in our war. But your power has surpassed ours, and now many, if not most, of my people fear you far more than they fear the real dangers. Emalia doesn’t want to turn you away – she’s too curious – but she knows that letting you stay has its challenges. The Academy is her best option. You’ll be trained to use your powers, so nobody can argue that you pose a danger, and you’ll be out of the public eye. After a couple of months, most people will probably forget about you.’
‘But only Immortal children can enter the Academy,’ Suriya continued for her, ‘and only the Council has the power to grant an exception.’
‘Pleased as I am that you’ve been paying attention and taking everything in,’ said Gaelan, ‘you should probably learn to keep your observations to yourselves. My people don’t like being shown up by those they deem inferior.’
‘Maybe your people need to redefine what they perceive as inferior,’ Suriya murmured, her voice deadly quiet.
But Gaelan only grinned in response. ‘On that matter, you and I are of a similar mind.’
Then there came a sharp rap at the door, and Prince Brer entered without waiting for an invitation.