“When in the presence of your future king, you are required to kneel,” Kalodan murmured, his voice like the silkiest of caresses, mingled with the hiss of a snake.
All of them complied, save for one of the Satyrs, who remained standing on his goat-like legs. He was a small creature, barely taller than a Dwarf, with large, curved horns protruding from his forehead and curling back to his ears.
“You are no king of mine,” he spat, nostrils flaring. “King Endroth is the High King of Fallada ... I will bow to no king except him!”
Exchanging a glance with one of the Minotaurs, Kalodan sighed, snapping his fingers in a silent command. The Minotaur lifted his axe, ramming the butt of its staff into the Satyr’s stomach. The creature cried out, crumbling to his knees on his ground and clutching his middle. Lowering his head in shame, he wept, shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
“You pitiful creatures always kneel,” Kalodan said, rising to his feet to stare down at the cowering Satyr. “Whether to one king or another, you will submit, because it is in your nature. Now, I have heard that you were apprehended fleeing the woodlands. Where were you going?”
The woodland creatures exchanged glances, but remained silent. One of the Nymphs glared at Kalodan as if wishing her gaze could kill. If such a thing were possible, he would have burst into flames.
After a long moment of silence, Kalodan lifted his eyebrows. “No one? All right then.”
He gave the Minotaurs another silent command. This time, two of them came forward and took one of the Woodland Nymphs from her place among them. Unchaining her, they each grasped one of her arms and slammed her facedown onto the floor. A third Minotaur approached, raising his axe and resting its blade just above her neck.
The other creatures reacted predictably, shouting their horror and crying out that they would tell Kalodan whatever he wanted to know if he would only spare the Nymph.
“Now,” he crooned, pacing back and forth in front of the prostrate Nymph and her captors. “Let’s try this again. Where were you going?”
The group hesitated only a moment before the Satyr spoke up again. “Mercy, I beg you! We were heading for Inador.”
Stroking his smooth jaw, Kalodan eyed the Satyr with a gleam of interest in his eye. “Inador, you say? Interesting. I had heard the place was under heavy guard—with no one allowed in or out since the hybrid attack.”
“Aye, Your Majesty,” one of the Minotaurs rumbled. “Not since the princesses of Zenun arrived in Fallada has a single soul entered or left the Elf realm.”
“Yet, you creatures thought to seek refuge there,” Kalodan mused. “Could it be that you sought a secret path ... a way inside that others know nothing about?”
Silence greeted him, but Kalodan seemed to have expected that. He continued pacing in front of them, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “Many woodland creatures are fleeing their homes, but we haven’t been able to determine where they’ve been going. They cannot all get so far as Goldun or Damu without us being able to track them. Inador is the only other likely place. I want to know how you’re getting inside.”
The Satyr turned to glance at the remaining Nymph, who wept at the sight of one of her people on the other end of an axe. Still, she shook her head at the Satyr, as if to urge him to keep silent no matter the cost.
“This Nymph’s life is on the line!” Kalodan bellowed, pointing at the Minotaur waiting for the command. “Unless you want to watch her die, speak! Tell me how you creatures are finding your way into Inador!”
“We will not endanger the lives of our families and friends, even if it means we must die!” the second Nymph wailed, tears streaming down her moss-green cheeks.
A wide smile spread across Kalodan’s face, but not a spark of humor lit in his eyes. He laughed, the sound chilling, even to Eranna’s ears.
Coming forward, he retrieved the key to the shackles. The creatures cringed away from him as he approached, but found no escape. He unlocked the Nymph’s shackles and took her by the arm. She squirmed in his hold, but his strength proved superior, keeping her subdued. He threw her to the ground beside the other Nymph, who remained pinned to the ground by the Minotaurs. Pushing the Minotaur aside, he retrieved its axe and shoved it at her.
“If you are so willing to sacrifice each other’s lives, then you must be prepared to do the deed yourselves,” he declared. “Very well ... behead her.”
The second Nymph glanced down at her kinswoman, her eyes wide. Her gaze jerked back up to Kalodan, and her chin trembled.
“You cannot mean it.”
He scoffed. “Oh, I can assure you that I do. You’ve declared your willingness to die for the cause of saving Inador from peril. You pathetic creatures have no notion of what it means to die in war, but you will learn today. Lift that axe and behead her, or I will kill every single person you came with while you watch, then take my time killing you. You will know pain unlike anything you’ve experienced in your miserable little life. Now, do it!”
Trembling from head to toe, she gazed down at the other Nymph, another tear escaping her eyes. The first Nymph turned her head, gazing up at the other female—who might be a sister, a cousin, a friend. They stared at each other for a moment, before the first Nymph nodded.
“Just do it, Eaphia,” she whispered. “Make it fast.”
Shoulders shaking as she sobbed, the sound interspersed with hiccups, Eaphia gripped the handle of the axe with both hands and raised it. Her cries echoed from the high ceiling of the throne room, the noise giving voice to her despair. She sounded as if she’d rather fall on the axe herself than behead the other Nymph.
“Please,” she begged, pausing with the weapon raised, arms trembling. “Please don’t make me do this.”
“You will do it!” Kalodan thundered, his face reddening with rage. “You will do it, or by the gods, I will tear the flesh from your bones myself.”
Eaphia screamed, raising the axe high as if prepared to comply. Before she could swing it down, the Satyr called out.
“Wait!”
Kalodan held up one hand, halting Eaphia, who seemed relieved by the interference. “Yes?”
“There are caves,” the Satyr mumbled, lowering his eyes. “Caves opening into tunnels ... tunnels that lead through various points of the woodlands. They all converge on Inador, ending at the four main waterfalls at each corner of the realm.”
“Tunnels and waterfalls, he says,” Kalodan said aloud to no one in particular. “Yes, that would explain how so many were able to escape right under our noses.”
Reaching out, he plucked the axe from Eaphia’s grasp. She deflated, her shoulders slumping as she sighed in relief.
“Very good,” he murmured. “You may return to your friends now.”
Eaphia moved to do as he commanded. Muffling more sobs, she collapsed against the Satyr, who held her close and attempted to soothe her.
Suddenly, Kalodan raised the axe, bringing it down with swift precision on the other Nymph’s neck. The dull thud of the blade striking her neck, was followed by the metal striking marble as it went clean through and hit the floor.
Eaphia’s scream rose to echo from the rafters as she fought against the Satyr’s hold, the sound a mingling of grief, disbelief, and rage.
Arching one eyebrow, Kalodan tossed the axe aside. “Let that be a lesson to you. In the future, do as I ask the first time.”
Turning to Minotaurs, he waved a dismissive hand toward his prisoners.
“Take them to the dungeons. Then, send scouts into the woodlands—our swiftest and stealthiest Werewolves and Fox Shifters. I want these caves and tunnels into Inador found.”
The large black beasts bowed as one.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” one of them rumbled before turning to help the others lead their captives away.
Not waiting for them to leave before him, Kalodan stood and made his exit, stepping over the Nymph’s headless body without so much as a glance in her
direction. Striding swiftly down a winding corridor, he retrieved a slender silver chain from around his neck, from which hung a large key. He used it to open a rough wooden door, which led down a set of spiraling stone steps. He found and lit a torch, and used it to light his way down, moving on swift feet.
At the bottom of the steps, a dark, cavernous room seemed to loom empty. Yet, as Kalodan lifted his torch and moved farther into the room, Eranna spied a large shape huddled in the corner.
A chill raced down her spine as she recognized the form of a massive bird. It squawked as Kalodan ventured closer, belching a stream of flames. The fire lit up the room for a few seconds, and Eranna got a full glimpse of the Phoenix created by blood magic.
It took her breath away, its body covered in silky black feathers. Its wings were tipped in orange and red, with matching plumes flowing from its head and tail. It lumbered toward Kalodan, spewing another ball of fire, but was brought up short by the shackle and chain keeping it trapped in its corner of the room.
Kalodan grinned as he beheld his creation. “Hello, my love. Are you ready to be set free? Soon, my love ... soon. The woodlands await your ravaging fire. Our queen will be so pleased, will she not?”
Turning away from her mirror, Eranna furrowed her brow, thinking over all she’d just seen. Kalodan had done well—collecting Desdemona’s blood for her Witches to use in the blood magic rite, creating their very own Phoenix. He was closing in on Inador, which had been the next part of their plan after capturing Zenun and spreading their strength to the human realm.
Yet, something about the way he’d taken charge in her absence did not sit well with her. He spoke of her as if he thought her beneath him—a king to her queen. Even when Eranna had been married to King Enrak, she had never been beneath him. Mollac had always bowed before its queen, the true ruler of the winter realm.
Kalodan was forgetting himself, becoming too comfortable in his position of power. Eranna needed to finish her business in the Earth realm and return to put him back in his place.
The sooner the better.
Turning back to the Eye of Mollac, she shifted her thoughts to another pressing problem.
“Mirror, mirror, show me my daughter.”
Chapter Nine
DESDEMONA PAUSED AT the top of the snow-covered hill, gazing down upon the village of Snowbank. Nestled at the base of the Delelm Mountains, the large village had once been home to hundreds of Fox Shifters. Its market had been a bustling place for the residents of Mollac to buy, sell, and trade their homemade goods, furs, food, and crops.
Now, it seemed a desolate place; far too still and quiet. Only the smoke curling from the chimneys of its houses told her that anyone still lived there. The market looked as if it had been abandoned, its empty stalls casting forlorn shadows against the snowy ground. Marching back and forth at various points throughout the village, Eranna’s minions kept watch—appearing like ants crawling across the snow from this distance.
Coming up beside her on two legs, Malachi braced his hands on his hips. His large arms were bared to the cold by his sleeveless tunic, his long legs encased in matching brown leggings and boots. On her other side appeared Eli, dressed in similar fashion, but in unrelenting black.
“There aren’t many of them,” Malachi remarked, following her gaze to where Eranna’s soldiers patrolled the village.
“Not from the looks of things, but we cannot afford to make assumptions,” Eli replied. “There could be others nearby, waiting to be alerted at the first sign of trouble.”
Jerking a thumb over his shoulder, Malachi motioned toward the one hundred Warrior Fae in formation behind them, with Mindirra and her royal bodyguard at their forefront. “We have them for reinforcement if need be. This lot is so pitiful, the three of us could wipe them out in minutes.”
“Well, then,” Desdemona said, shrugging out of her fur cloak. “What are we waiting for?”
Leaving the men behind, she began tramping down the bank toward the village. She spread her arms and allowed the fire in her belly to grow and swell, its heat reaching out to the tips of her fingers. Pausing, she glanced back over her shoulder and met Malachi’s glance. He watched her with the light of pride in his eyes, his lips curved into a smile. The world seemed so much easier to face knowing that she had someone to love, who loved her back. He would remain at her side, even when others failed her.
“Do try to keep up,” she murmured just before bursting into flames and transforming into her Phoenix form.
Taking to the sky, she spread her wings and glided, drifting toward the village at a languid pace. She was content to take her time, and allow the minions below her to realize what was about to happen before she decimated them.
The sound of feet pounding the ground drew her gaze below, where Malachi and Eliandes had shifted into their animal forms. Keeping pace with each other, they ran side by side, both equally frightening in completely different ways. Eli was lean muscle beneath dark, sleek fur—powerful and lithe. Malachi was all brawn beneath the coils of brown fur, charging forward at a speed that would knock anything in his way off its feet.
With a screech, she let loose with a stream of flames, alerting those on the ground to her presence. The panicked cries of the people watching from inside their houses reached out to her, mingling with her enemies’ roars of anger. She wished she could speak in her Phoenix form, and assure the people of Mollac that she had not come to harm them. However, the Shapeshifters and Minotaurs keeping them imprisoned in Eranna’s name were a more pressing problem. She could show them better than she could tell them, just how dedicated she was to liberating them.
Swooping down toward the snowy ground, she let loose with another stream of fire, incinerating the four Minotaurs charging toward her with axes raised. Landing in the snow, she stood and threw her wings out wide, issuing another cry of warning. The call was clear in its resonance and intent. It let everyone within hearing distance know that the Phoenix had come home to claim what was hers.
On either side of her, Malachi and Eli warded off attacks—one swiping and snapping at the Fox Shifters surrounding him, while the other tangled with a Werewolf.
Suddenly, a dozen Werewolves converged on her from all sides, the fur on their backs bristling as they bared their teeth and snapped at her. Her massive wings created a current of wind that knocked them back, head over heels as she propelled upward. The flames that shot from her mouth enveloped them, melting the show into slush as they became engulfed. Some tried to run, but she went after them, swooping down and taking two of them into her talons. Twisting and writhing in her hold, they attempted to be free, but she proved stronger than them as she went higher—high enough that once she released them, they fell too far and fast to survive.
Without stopping to watch the creatures plummet to their deaths, she arced back around, and glided lower, bowling over four Fox Shifters as they attempted to attack Malachi. As they tumbled away, she bathed them in fire, refusing to feel sympathy at the sounds of their yips and cries of agony. These creatures were the enemy, and were responsible for the pain and suffering of many others.
It did not take long for her, Eli, and Malachi to clear the entire village, with her flying overhead to better spot threats, and them following on the ground. By the time Mindirra, her royal guard, and the unit of Warrior Fae reached them, they had eradicated Eranna’s presence in Snowbank.
Desdemona came back down, shifting just as her feet touched the ground right in front of Mindirra and her guards. Mindirra dutifully held up Desdemona’s fur cloak, swiftly using it to cover her now naked body.
“I took the liberty of bringing more clothing for you, my queen,” Mindirra said, extending a small sack to her.
Unlike her, Malachi and Eli wore enchanted Fae garments that shifted when they did and remained intact. She envied them the luxury, and wondered how quickly she could procure some.
Smiling gratefully, she accepted the bundle, ensuring her cloak remained closed. The cold d
idn’t bother her now that she’d learned to use the fire inside of her to keep warm, and nudity no longer shamed her, as her clothes would always burn away whenever she transformed. However, she could feel Malachi’s possessive gaze sweeping over the other males present, almost as if daring them to look at her. Despite needing to appear queenly at the moment, she couldn’t help the blush that warmed her face, or the tiny smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. It didn’t matter that she was one of the most powerful beings in existence—that he felt so strongly about protecting her warmed Desdemona’s heart.
“Thank you, Mindirra,” she said.
She turned to find that a family of three Fox Shifters had emerged from their home and began to approach her. The husband held his mate and son close, his expression wary as he led them to her. The female trembled in her husband’s arms, but followed his lead, seeming to trust his assumption that Desdemona had not come to obliterate them into ashes.
“Hello,” she called out, smiling to put them at ease. “Come forward ... no one will harm you.”
Visibly relieved, the man led his family closer. As they neared, he dropped to one knee in the snow and lowered his head. His wife and son followed suit.
“Your Majesty,” he murmured, staring up at her with awe-filled eyes. “We have awaited your return with baited breath. What can we do to thank you for freeing us from being imprisoned in our own homes?”
Striding forward, she reached down to touch his shoulder. “What is your name?”
“Roimas, Your Majesty,” he replied. Then, he gestured to the woman and boy kneeling on either side of him. “My mate, Merta, and my son, Henfas.”
Flight of the Phoenix Page 11