The Winged Assassin

by Gwynn White

  “I assume you mean the sulfur? All part of the lie, pit princess.” There was no levity in Averin’s voice. “Just as well I warned my family about your hilarious wit and radical views.” He pulled a hand out of his pocket and pointed at a rock shelf jutting out over the lava.

  Three fae stood on it. She recognized only one of them—Queen Geminara. Averin’s mother glittered in crimson silk that fired like red diamonds as she lifted a hand in greeting. Her smile didn’t meet her eyes. Her dark hair was piled on her head and held in place by pins tipped with rubies. No fake flames for the queen of Zephyr.

  The other two fae were as fair-haired as Averin and his mother were dark. The older, taller of the two—King Seph, she guessed—wore fine black breeches tucked into shining, knee-high black boots and a tunic that matched his wife’s red dress. Long, flaxen-colored hair hung loose around a sharp face set with unnerving steel-blue eyes.

  “My father, King Seph,” Averin said softly before she had time to study the third fae. “And my brother, Rican. Come meet them.” He started to lift his arm for her to take, then stopped. “On second thoughts, I’m assuming that fire is the real deal? Not a glamour for the occasion?”

  “A glamour? Have you fallen on your head since I last saw you?”

  A glamour! Her fire magic huffed. He insults us. No glamour could look so beautiful.

  A wry grin. “That would have been a fine idea, but no. Pity you didn’t mention the possibility sooner.” He indicated that she should go first.

  She folded her arms and studied his eyes in the lava’s unearthly red glow. They were almost black. Averin clearly didn’t want to be here, and he wasn’t bothering to hide that from her.

  “After you.”

  He clicked his tongue, then whispered, “Just for the record, I’m not much of a party animal at the best of times. This is the worst of times. Or certainly in the top ten. Don’t expect too much song and dance from me this evening.” He turned away before she could reply.

  Frowning her confusion, she hitched up her train and stumbled after him across the black glamoured stone rimming the fake volcano. Averin stood aside to let her onto the shelf first. “Don’t forget to curtsy,” he whispered as she passed him.

  No prodding was needed. Seen up close, King Seph of Zephyr’s canny face was both handsome and brutal. She dropped into a quick curtsy.

  Stop groveling. Her water magic slopped from side to side in her core. It reminded her of some of the more nauseating moments on The Sword. She shot upright and was about to speak, but her jaw dropped instead.

  A jagged scar had appeared on King Seph’s face. It cut his diamond-sharp features from the tip of his glinting blue left eye to the right side of his pointed chin. She tried not to stare at it but couldn’t stop herself. In a world of rapid healing and exquisite fae faces, such a disfiguring injury wasn’t just unheard of, it was an aberration, especially when appearance was everything to Queen Geminara.

  King Seph’s shrewd blue eyes bored into her. “Seems we both wear our weapons for all the world to see.” Despite his ruined lips, no slur marred words that were spoken in a deep, husky voice. “Welcome to Zephyr, Stasha. I’m delighted to have you as a friend and ally. You will find in me an equally stout supporter.” He held out his hand for her to shake.

  Reeling at his strange comment about weapons, she lifted her hand to grip his. Her pesky glove burned more fiercely. She suppressed a sigh. But there was no point in hiding the truth about her lack of magical control from this fae, so she offered him her burning hand, not expecting him to take it. “No doubt Averin has told you that Eliezar’s fire-control lessons are much needed.”

  King Seph gripped her hand firmly in his. He didn’t even flinch at the flames curling around his flesh as they shook on their alliance. “Your first meeting takes place tomorrow morning, right after our family breakfast, I believe.” Averin had mentioned breakfast, but she had no idea it included his entire family—or that she was now considered part of it. “Rest assured, if anyone can help you, it will be Eliezar.”

  King Seph pulled away and didn’t even look at his blackened skin. “You’ve already had the pleasure of meeting my wife.” Mirth glinted in his eyes. “And survived it, I see.” There was no malice in his voice or the smile that twitched his ragged lips. If anything, warm affection radiated from him—for both her and Queen Geminara.

  Stasha frowned. His genuine friendliness was certainly unexpected. It suddenly made sense that King Seph would have sent troops to rescue his son’s best friend from the Atrian queen’s cutting room. So why hadn’t he used his prodigious magic to free his own daughter from Angharad? Despite her confusion, she found herself smiling back at him. “I’m not sure how good a candidate I am for the Dome of Dreams.”

  Raking eyes made her skin prickle. She glanced at Queen Geminara, expecting to see censure. A ghost of a smile skirted Averin’s mother’s bow-shaped lips. Clearly, she wasn’t offended by the comment—or by Stasha’s actions in the Dome. Most puzzling.

  That left only one fae who could be making her skin prickle. She shifted her gaze to Rican and caught him scanning her full length with kingfisher-blue eyes. His square-jawed face and shoulder-length, golden curls resembled neither of his parents, although he shared his father’s heavy build. Like all the Zephyr royals, the nod to fire in his black leggings, cobalt-blue tunic, and peacock-green surcoat was understated but elegant.

  King Seph looked first at her and then at Rican. “Stasha, meet Rican, my son and heir.” No fancy title? And no pat on the back for Averin for finding and bringing her to the Zephyr court for this meeting? How refreshing. If King Seph carried on like this, she’d have no choice but to like him.

  Rican stepped forward and bowed. “Delighted to meet you, my lady.” He gave her a wavering smile. “Av and I are looking forward to sharing the evening’s festivities with you. As he’s had ample opportunities to drag you around on his arm, I’d be pleased if you’d do me the honor.” He glanced at her confounded glove. “Perhaps you could save the flames—”

  “Of course,” she interrupted before her fire could decide to misconstrue his request as a command. She glowered at her hand and snapped, Release me. Now. Flames crackled, and a couple of sparks arrowed off in Rican’s direction. He skittered back, and she closed her eyes. Tree! Sort this out before I scream.

  Her glove snuffed with a poof.

  She heaved a sigh of relief and opened her eyes to see all of the Zephyr royals, Averin excluded, watching her with varying degrees of pensiveness. Rican even gnawed his perfect lip. An enigmatic smile softened Averin’s usually hard expression. He caught her eye and mouthed, “I owe you one.”

  Before she could quiz him, King Seph burst into laughter and pulled a silver coin from a pocket. He handed it to Averin. “Son, I concede. I should have trusted your superior knowledge of Stasha rather than my profound confidence in my excellent son-in-law’s ability to train warriors and their magic.”

  Averin pocket the coin, then grinned sheepishly at her. “We had a wager. My father said Eliezar would whip your magic into shape within the week. I was less optimistic. I said the Hiding of the Moon. A silver coin seemed appropriate.”

  She bristled, and the fire on her collar spluttered. These damn fae and their stupid deals and wagers. “Neither date has yet been reached.”

  King Seph dipped his head at her. “The two-faced god has granted me enough wisdom to know two things with absolute certainty.” He held up a finger. “Number one: to acknowledge when I’m beaten, and, number two”—another finger shot into the air— “to recognize when it’s time to start making fresh plans. This is such a time.” He took his wife’s hand. “We have much to celebrate. Let’s not delay the party any longer.” He stepped off the ledge, and he and Averin’s mother vanished into the lava. Without a glance at her, Averin followed.

  She gulped a breath and took Rican’s offered arm with shaking fingers.

  Keeping his distance from her flaming dress, he squ
eezed her hand. “Nervous? Yet you own fire.”

  She straightened her shoulders—and lied. “Just excited.”

  “Really?” He looked at her doubtfully. “According to Av, you’re not a fan of the carnival. He was quite vocal about it.”

  “We’re using the truth?” She snorted her surprise. “In that case, I think your carnival is utterly barbaric. And that’s not just because I was once human.” She tossed her head back and eyed him coldly. “Abusing any living creature for our entertainment is indefensible.”

  Rican meet her gaze unflinchingly. “Stasha, I’m a rarity among fae—I’ve always preferred truth to lies.” His face twisted into something wry. “If I promise to keep you away from the more offensive parts of the carnival, will you promise not to burn me with your dress?”

  How much better would the less offensive parts be? But there was little point in arguing with Rican about something his father obviously condoned, so she relaxed her tight shoulders. “Deal. Now I just need to convince my magic to comply.”

  “That bad, huh?” Rican stepped off the ledge with her in tow. Before she had time to reply, or to wonder why he’d been kind enough to try and distract her, she landed on a golden saddle mounted on the back of a scarlet-and-gold bird. “Ever ridden a phoenix before?” he continued casually from his perch on a magnificent phoenix fluttering on huge wings alongside her equally fabulous bird.

  She laughed. “Are you always so masterful at disarming people, or do you save that for fae wearing killer dresses?”

  His grin showed sharply pointed canines. “Both.” He clicked his fingers, and both birds dove into the sulphurous lava.

  They landed on an overhang of shiny black stone that jutted out of a waterfall of steaming glamoured lava. King Seph, Queen Geminara, and Averin stood in a line together a short distance away. Below them, a sea of fae standing in what looked like simmering red porridge looked up at them.

  Before Stasha could dismount, blinding golden light flashed out of her phoenix, and she found herself breathing in ash. Brushing gray flakes off his leggings, Rican stepped out of a similar ash pile. “I should’ve warned you that your phoenix would ignite,” he whispered. “Not much of a guide, am I?” Lava glinted in the filigreed golden tips that adorned his pointed ears.

  Her dress flared at his closeness. “Some improvement wouldn’t go amiss.” She smiled and stepped away before her flames, licking eagerly at him, could find skin. What’s your problem with Rican? she snapped. You never do this with Averin.

  Her water sloshed. Simple. Rican isn’t Averin.

  You mean he hasn’t betrayed me with his lies? Yet.

  Her fire scoffed. Oh, dry up. It’s not as if your hands are clean. I’ve almost forgotten how many secrets you’re keeping from Averin.

  She winced at that truth as she joined Averin and the rest of his family. Not sure what would happen now, she stared at the fae nobles kneeling before their king.

  Outlandish and garish, their themed costumes ranged from the sublime to the outright ludicrous. The only uniting statement in the riot of extravagant color and shape were the flames around which each creation had been designed. She bit back a smile at how silly they all looked. At least the royals didn’t stoop to such nonsense, even if they condoned it.

  Her water magic tooted with laughter. Woo-hoo! And to think, my brother thought he’d wow everyone here with his magnificence. The laughter morphed into a growl. Our Bearer of Wild Magic should have come dressed in ice. Now that would have stood out.

  My flames are true and deadly, her fire replied haughtily. The Zephyr counterfeits will shrivel before them.

  Before she could call them both to order, King Seph spoke to the crowd. “Friends, by now you’ve all heard the good news, so I won’t waste time with more talk.” He pulled a crystal goblet out of the ether and took a swig of a steaming red liquid. It smelled of charcoal and smoke. “Let the party begin.” A roar of laughter rocked the volcano as King Seph’s subjects reached up to grab crystal goblets filled with the same strange concoction that had appeared out of nothing to hover above their heads.

  Rican took her elbow. “Averin mentioned that you haven’t yet eaten properly today. Food or a drink first? I know a quiet place where the party is unlikely to spill.” He nudged her toward a staircase carved out of the rock.

  She smiled pertly. “If you really wanted to make me happy, you’d rustle up another bird so I don’t have to climb more stairs.”

  “Ah. Of course.” Rican grimaced, then looked at her pile of phoenix ash, regret on his face.

  Averin clicked his fingers. The ash swirled into a bird-shaped cloud. Flashes of red, gold, and green almost blinded her. She blinked. A fully formed phoenix, saddled in gold, flapped swept-back wings before her. Averin waved at it. “Your ride. Need help to mount her?”

  Her water magic smirked. And that’s why we like Averin. He’s powerful. So very, very powerful. A true prince of the air.

  She just managed to resist an eyeroll. “Thanks, but I’m good.” She shot Averin a canny look. “Will this bird take me anywhere I want to go in Zephyr? Or is it like Ildrim? Limited by royal command?”

  “And have you miss the fun Rican and I have planned for you tonight?” Neither Averin’s voice nor his face hinted at shame for having lied to her. “Your destination? Down three flights of stairs. Rican and I will meet you there.” He grabbed Rican’s arm and strode to the edge of the ledge. Expression puzzled, Rican looked first at Averin and then at her as he and his brother took a set of stairs carved into the rock.

  She sighed as she climbed aboard the phoenix’s saddle. The bird’s wings flexed as she settled and fumbled for the reins. There were none. Gently, she gripped the three golden feathers that arched off its arrow-shaped head. Powerful wings flapped, and they soared into the air. Seconds later, they plummeted onto a gritty black beach lapped by burning waves. A hot wind swayed the bright-green fronds topping feather-duster-like trees clumped along the expansive shoreline. It did little to ease the mugginess. Behind the strange, tall trees, a lush forest snaked. A jungle of green, its giant-leaved plants would never have survived a temperate Atrian summer, let alone the winter. Whoever had come up with the glamour for the evening certainly was imaginative.

  She braced herself for the phoenix to vanish in a puff of smoke and ash. Instead, head held up expectantly, the bird quivered beneath her but stayed in one piece as she dismounted onto the sand. Cursing slippers, which each swallowed easily a bucket of grit, she looked around for the staircase. Kicking up black sand, Averin and Rican strode toward them. She folded her arms. “Ha! Liar! There’s no way you got down three flights of stairs so quickly. You must have spirited.”

  Averin reached her first. He was grinning like a panther with a mouth stuffed full of phoenix feathers. “I confess to all my crimes and ask for your pardon.” He patted the phoenix’s golden neck and crooned. “Deja, as you know, this immensely powerful fae with the flashy dress has many grand titles, but I call her pit princess.” He canted his head at Stasha. “It keeps her humble. Or, at least, that’s the plan. Perhaps in time, noble warrior, you’ll come up with your own name for Stasha—as I hope she does for you.” Deja’s huge black eyes flitted from Averin to her. They widened, as if assessing her. Unlike Ildrim’s cold scrutiny, interest and hope blazed in that bright gaze. It made Stasha stand taller, in a good, unaggressive sort of way.

  Rican chuckled as he stopped next to her. “I see my brother has a gift for you. Good choice. Deja is a phoenix, a queen amongst birds.” He slapped Averin’s shoulder. “This will be a hard one to top, brother.”

  “Just as I intended. You’ve won the war. Allow me to at least win a final battle.”

  Rican’s smile didn’t reach his eyes, so if he was pleased to be victor, she’d never know. But as she had no clue as to what they were talking about, she really didn’t care. She took a step back. “The phoenix… Deja… she’s mine?” Her jaw dangled as she half-glared, half-grinned at Averin. C
omplicated fae. How was she supposed to stay mad at him when he did wonderful, unexpected things like this?

  Averin nodded. “Bond with her, and Deja will take you anywhere in the world you want to go.”

  She gulped. “Without permission?”

  Averin’s nose scrunched like something bad had wafted by. “Are you a youngling? Of course you don’t need permission.” He bowed his head to Deja. “Do you wish to grant Stasha a feather?”

  Eyes fixed on Stasha, Deja twitched a wing. A soft red plume the length of Stasha’s hand fluttered to the ground. Averin scooped it up before it hit the sand and held it out to Stasha. “If you want to seal the deal with Deja, blow on it.”

  Not entirely sure what this ritual meant—was this how Averin and Ildrim had bonded?—she glanced at Rican. He smiled reassuringly. Fat lot of good that did. How could she trust a fae she’d just meet, a fae who also happened to be a Zephyr royal? She shifted from foot to foot, aware of the growing weight of Deja’s rapidly cooling gaze.

  Do it, her water magic hissed. Now, her magic she could and did trust.

  She bent over Averin’s hand and blew gently. The feather floated up to curl around her mouth. She was sucking in a startled breath when Averin said, “This kiss forges you both in the Mantra of Summoning. Stasha, no matter where you are, think Deja’s name and the location you want to go to, and she will come to you.” The feather dropped from her lips and puffed into ash. Deja’s majestic head rested briefly on her shoulder. Delight rippled through Stasha, and she tentatively stroked Deja’s soft feathers. A streak of light, and then Deja was gone, presumably to a platform similar to Ildrim’s somewhere in the palace.

  Her heart skittered, torn between soaring and sinking. She owned a phoenix! All thanks to Averin. But what had brought about this sudden change? Had the wind whispered her private conversation with Klaus, Feral Fox, and Suren to him? Was this his way of freeing her while simultaneously binding her with stronger ties to Zephyr? Or had the same spirit that had prompted him to give her the arrow, hanging under her dress, and his own precious black feather, safe in her room, motivated this huge gift? Knowing Averin, she’d probably never discover the answer.