Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

  Rushing forward, he lent a hand, snatching the beam from the boy and setting it into its place within the catapult.

  “Thanks,” said the boy—a Werewolf, he noticed. “You’re really strong.”

  Malachi shrugged and conjured a little smile for the boy. “It was no trouble.”

  Glancing past him, Malachi spied three more of the catapults spaced out along the wall. Between them, massive wooden crossbows sat mounted on top of the stone, with buckets full of oversized, iron-tipped arrows on the ground beneath them. He nodded his approval as he approached one, placing a hand on the mechanism that would launch the arrows into the air. The crossbow swiveled on its pedestal, which meant its wielder could aim the large arrows at foes in the air, or on the ground.

  “Do you know how to shoot one of those things?”

  The voice sent a chill down his spine, and caused the familiar tightness to return to his chest. Beside him, the boy he’d assisted dropped to one knee and lowered his head, murmuring “Your Majesty,” under his breath. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Malachi turned to face her, lowering his head and bowing without meeting her gaze.

  “I am a fair hand with a crossbow, Your Majesty,” he replied, keeping his gaze lowered to his shoes. “I haven’t hunted with one in some time, as I have no need to use a bow to hunt. But I’ve used them for sport a time or two.”

  Her hand reached out to touch his shoulder, and he fought the urge to jerk away from the touch. When he forced himself to stare into her dark eyes, he found nothing but kindness there. A soft smile curved her perpetually red lips—appearing as if they’d been kissed by the petals of a rose. She wore her inky black hair loose down her back, with a chain of pearls resting on her head, one larger pearl resting between her eyes.

  She looked like his every dream come true, but Malachi reminded himself that this dream could never be real again.

  “Well?” she urged, her smile widening. “Will you stand there gaping me, or will you greet me properly?”

  Before he could respond, she was on him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

  “It is good to see you,” she murmured. “I’ve never gotten the chance to thank you for freeing me from my mother’s clutches. If not for you, I might never have found the strength to take my place here.”

  Nodding, Malachi forced his tongue to come unglued from the roof of his mouth. Of course, she did not remember anything that had happened between them since the day he’d unlocked her powers and set her free, ensuring that the Phoenix could fully emerge. He had made sure of that.

  “It has been a joy to see you grow into your role as queen,” he managed, unable to help that his voice came out rough and terse.

  She frowned, her expression becoming confused. He cursed himself for being incapable of getting a handle on his emotions. He was hurting her feelings by being so distant. Yet, how else was he to protect his own heart, which felt as if it had crumbled into dust?

  Clearing her throat, she tried again. “How’s little Leven?”

  “He is well, Your Majesty,” he replied. “Safe, in Goldun.”

  Her smile faded, as she seemed to realize he would not smile back at her, or engage in pleasantries. He knew without the presence of a mirror that his face must appear like a stone to her—immovable, hard, unreadable.

  “Good,” she murmured. “I am glad to hear it.”

  They stared at each other in silence, and she seemed to be waiting for something—what, he could not be certain.

  Finally, she forced another smile and gestured toward the crossbow. “We need someone to oversee the archers on the wall. As you have experience with the crossbow, perhaps you might like the position.”

  Glancing at the crossbow in front of him, Malachi considered the offer. He did have experience with the weapon, and being on the wall would give him a good vantage point for watching everything as it happened. He had to assume Desdemona would fight in Phoenix form, which meant she would meet any aerial attacks. If he manned the crossbow, he could help pick off anything that might try to take her down. Protecting the queen was his main objective, as he understood that losing her would bring an end to the liberation of Fallada.

  “I am honored that you would trust me with something so important,” he replied. “I accept, thank you.”

  “Very well,” she replied with a nod. “When we meet in the great hall, I will ensure that the other archers know to report to you.”

  He inclined his head and executed another bow. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

  Nodding in satisfaction, she turned to walk away, approaching an armed and armored Warrior Faerie. She glanced back at him, her brow furrowed as if trying to determine what might be wrong with him.

  I’m a Shifter male without the woman he wants for a mate, dear Des. Nothing too serious, really ... I’m simply dying inside by degrees.

  Turning away from her, he continued down the wall, deciding to examine the crossbows to ensure each was in working order. He could not remain here much longer. Being so near her without being able to have her in the way he wanted would surely kill him. But first, this battle needed to be fought and won. Once Mollac had been secured, he could leave Semran Hall and, with any luck, never be forced to lay eyes on her again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  STANDING AT THE ENTRANCE to one of the secret tunnels into the Elf city of Inador, Phaedra wiped her sweaty palms on her leggings. Anxiety gripped her at what awaited her there. The last time she’d journeyed to Inador, it had been to meet an Elf named Arrian, who could perform the ritual to trade her aunt’s soul for her dead boyfriend’s.

  She could have never imagined that the Elf named Arrian would become the love of her life, or that she would come to care for him more than she ever had Charles. She never imagined he would ask her to marry him, and bring her back to Inador to meet his sister—the only living immediate family in his life. His elder brother had married the woman Arrian had wanted for himself, resulting in his broken heart, and it was a sore subject ... one Arrian had warned her was off-limits.

  Oh, and of course there was the impending fight with a blood magic Phoenix and the evil leader of the Dark Fae.

  At her side, Arrian seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he urged her forward and into the darkness. Ahead of them, Rothatin and En’im led the way, their bright glow increasing as they became swallowed up by the dark, lighting their path. Behind them, Jocylene rode in a wagon pulled by a mule, with Adoine, King of the Dwarves, by her side. In the wagon, and the three others traveling behind them, lay the iron weapons they would use against the Dark Fae. There were arrows with iron heads, swords, axes, daggers, and spears. She’d been grateful to find that someone had thought to fashion an iron trident for her. Aside from being a good tool for harnessing large amounts of water, an iron trident could help her skewer any Dark Fae who came near her.

  “If you’d rather wait until after the battle to announce our engagement to my sister, we can,” Arrian murmured, keeping his voice low.

  They had yet to tell anyone about their betrothal. With everything else that was going on, it seemed wise to wait. The focus for the moment seemed to be on Rothatin and En’im—who had shocked everyone with their surprise engagement. She hadn’t even realized something was going on between them.

  But then, Rothatin was a man who put his duty first—which meant he likely wasn’t marrying for love.

  “Of course not,” she said, trying to keep her voice level and calm. She was nervous as hell, but knew avoiding it wouldn’t help ease her apprehension. “The sooner, the better, I think.”

  He flashed her a bright smile as they followed the dark, winding path toward Inador. “Very well. Once we’ve settled in, I’ll take you to her. She’ll be delighted to meet you.”

  Giving him a pointed look, she raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Of course,” he said with a shrug. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “Oh
, I don’t know,” she muttered. “Maybe because you’re her baby brother, who got his heart broken by his ex and big brother. She’s probably really protective of you, isn’t she?”

  Arrian seemed to think it over for a moment before nodding slowly. “Well, certainly. But I am the youngest of three siblings.”

  “And you’ve been cursed,” Phaedra pointed out. “If it was Sonia we were talking about, and some guy had broken her heart and led to her being cursed, I would probably be a total bitch to any guy who came near her after that.”

  Arrian’s expression became uneasy. “Oh, crap.”

  She wanted to giggle over hearing the word ‘crap’ come out of Arrian’s very proper mouth, but couldn’t conjure a laugh. Not when she felt as if she were about to puke all over his shoes.

  “It’ll be fine,” he encouraged, draping an arm over her shoulders. “She has no reason to oppose our match. You are a royal daughter of Fallada, which makes you my equal. You are beautiful, intelligent, and brave. Jadis has no reason not to love you. Just be yourself, and you’ll win her over as easily as you did me.”

  She nudged him with her elbow playfully. “Yeah, that wasn’t exactly easy. You were as prickly as a cactus when I first met you.”

  “I was ugly and angry when you met me,” he chuckled. “And what, pray tell, is a cactus?”

  “A desert plant from the human world,” she replied. “It has sharp thorns on its outside ... touching one can tear your fingers to shreds.”

  “Well, you seem to be intact,” he joked, pulling her closer to his side as they walked. “I couldn’t have been so bad.”

  “Not really, I guess,” she said. “I suppose I simply learned how to handle you. Any other family I need to know about?”

  Arrian shook his head. “The Riverleaf clan is large, so most of them are related to me in some way. There are many cousins and distant uncles and aunts, but hardly any immediate family. My parents are long gone, so only my sister and I remain.”

  “And your brother,” she prodded. He couldn’t go on pretending the guy didn’t exist.

  His jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring in annoyance. “Yes ... him, too.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to meet Jadis,” she said quickly, glossing over the moment. “If she’s anything like you, then I’m sure we’ll get along well.”

  They lapsed into silence for the rest of the walk, with only the sounds of the wagon wheels against the hard ground breaking through the quiet. Jocylene and Adoine had been discussing battle strategies, but fell silent after a while.

  Before long, the gurgling sound of rushing water met her ears, and then they approached the back of one of Inador’s waterfalls. Phaedra could remember running through one of them to escape Eranna’s hybrid army the last time she’d been here. She cringed as she passed beneath the water, her hair becoming a sopping mess. The curls would turn into a frizzy mass as they dried, and she’d go to meet Arrian’s sister looking like a hot mess.

  She paused to wring some of the moisture out of her hair, and glanced up to find a party of Elves walking toward them from amongst the trees. They were tall and slender, with wide shoulders and figures made of lithe muscle, like Arrian. Dressed in leather and suede in earthen tones, they all wore bows and sheaths of arrows on their backs.

  An Elf with skin as dark as hers stepped forward. A cascade of dreadlocks hung down to his waist, pulled back to reveal his pointed ears.

  “Welcome, General, and Your Highnesses, to Inador,” he said in a deep, booming voice. “I am Thandros, of the Treelor clan. What brings you here ... and with a Dwarf army, no less?”

  Rothatin stepped forward. “We come from Goldun by the order of Queen Adrah to offer Inador aid.”

  A second Elf with mahogany brown hair and dark eyes scowled. “Aid? Inador has not requested aid.”

  “No, but we will soon need it,” Arrian spoke up, moving to stand beside Rothatin. “Kalodan Longspear and the Dark Fae are coming to attack, and they bring with them a Phoenix created from blood magic. It is their intent to lay waste to Fallada’s forest, and destroy the realm of Inador.”

  Thandros’ eyes grew wide, and for a moment, Phaedra saw fear in them. “What proof do you have of an impending attack?”

  “I saw it,” Jocylene piped up, moving around Phaedra to be seen. “Queen Adrah invited me into the chamber where she keeps the Eye of Goldun. I saw the future for myself. Kalodan is coming, and the blood magic Phoenix is very real. If we don’t prepare to fight them off, then the creatures who came to Inador seeking refuge will die. Inador will cease to exist.”

  Thandros clenched is jaw, but nodded decisively. “Very well. Come ... I will gather the clan leaders, and we will discuss a plan of action. Those in your party who will not sit in on our war council will be taken to a place where they can rest and eat. Prince Arrian, I am certain you do not need to be escorted home.”

  Arrian smiled and shook his head. “I remember the way, Thandros.”

  Turning to Phaedra, he extended a hand to her. She took it, but frowned as he led her away from the others. As they followed Thandros toward the center of Inador, Arrian began guiding her on a different path.

  “Why aren’t we joining the war council?” she asked, looking down to watch her step as they began crossing a small stream, using smooth stones for foot placement.

  “Because, only clan leaders are allowed in war councils,” he explained, helping her hop from the last stone to the other bank of the stream. “General Rothatin will be admitted for obvious reasons.”

  “And Jocylene?” she prodded, following him on a path up a gently sloping hill.

  All around them, trees rose several feet in the air, their lush foliage pretty much blotting out the sun. Still, Inador glowed from the light of hundreds of Pixies—from blades of grass beneath them, the insides of flowers, and the branches of trees.

  “Maybe her, too,” he relented.

  Giving him a puzzled look, she silently urged him to give her more information. There was a reason he didn’t want to go to this war council, when the two of them were never left out of the planning phase.

  Pausing at the top of the hill, he turned to gather her in his arms. “It’s my brother,” he said, pursing his lips in distaste. “He will be there.”

  Phaedra could have kicked herself for being so dense. In Inador, there were no kings or queens—no royal families. Only clans, and the leaders they answered to. Clan leadership passed from father to son, and Arrian’s bloodline was one of the clan leaders. His father had led the Riverleaf clan, and with his death, the eldest son had taken his place, making Arrian the heir apparent—unless his brother sired a son of his own, of course.

  Naturally, Arrian wouldn’t want to attend a war council where his brother would be present.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, and then her lips. “It’s not your fault, nor is it your problem. I’m sorry.”

  She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, fixing a few stray strands. “You can make it up to me later.”

  “Hmm,” he murmured, kissing her again, deeper this time. “I quite like the sound of that.”

  With a giggle, she pulled away, needing to put some distance between them before she lost her head. Despite sharing a bed on several occasions over the past few months, they had yet to cross certain lines. The tension between them had been noticeable before, but since her near-death experience and their getting back together, it was even more intense. Maybe it was the engagement, or the knowledge that she had almost died, but Phaedra couldn’t turn her mind away from the sorts of things that might happen at night while they lay together, alone. From the way Arrian kept looking at her, it seemed his thoughts were similar.

  Taking her hand, he continued leading her down a winding path through the thick woods. The farther they went, the more alive the forest came with sights, smells, and sounds. Longboats appeared on the surfaces of rivers, which ran between
the trees in lazy curves. Elves waved to them as they passed, fishing spears held in their hands. Above them, treehouses appeared, built into the boughs of trees. Some were small, using only one tree, others spanning five or more. They passed an open meadow surrounded by a ring of foliage, within which several Nymphs, Fauns, and Satyrs frolicked, seeming oblivious to the terror preparing to bear down on them.

  “They’re so innocent,” Phaedra murmured as they passed the little glen, watching as two Nymphs worked to fasten blossoms in the thick, wooly curls on top of a Faun’s head.

  “The creatures of the forest are defenseless,” Arrian agreed. “They have always relied on the Elves and Dwarves to protect them.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “Then it’s a good thing we’re here.”

  He tightened his hold on her hand and smiled, and that smile gave her hope. Maybe this battle wouldn’t be so bad, and the lives of the innocent could be spared.

  After a while, they came to a large compound of houses that seemed to belong to each other. Carved from dark wood, the outsides boasted intricate carvings, with flowers blossoming everywhere her eyes fell. Vines and greenery climbed up the sides of the structures, and open balconies and archways offered glimpses of the inside. At the center of the compound sat a massive, ancient tree, its trunk as wide as a city building, its top stretching up so high, Phaedra couldn’t see the upper branches. Seated against the trunk and between its roots were Elves. In groups, some of them talked and laughed together, while others seemed to be preparing food. A group of male Elves appeared from the river, bare chested and soaking wet, their spears heavy with the fish they’d tied to them.

  A clear, blue river wound its way around the tree and continued as far as her eye could see, with longboats coming and going, while Water Sprites danced and played along the surface.

  Turning to her with a smile, Arrian extended one arm toward the welcoming place. “Welcome to the home of the Riverleafs,” he murmured. “Your home, too, someday.”

  Phaedra gazed around her in wonder as Arrian pulled her along, skirting the edge of the compound instead of taking her right through it.