Flight of the Phoenix

by Alicia Michaels

  Arrian drew a sharp gasp, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. For a moment, he trembled with rage, causing Phaedra to fear he would leap over the table and wrap his hands around Arandil’s throat. Honestly, Phaedra didn’t think she could blame him, and might actually help hold him down while Arrian attempted it.

  Instead, he gave her hand a tug and guided her back toward the door. She held the bottom of her skirt up so she wouldn’t trip over it while trotting to keep up with his swift strides. They remained silent on the way back across the bridge, with only the soft tinkle of the Pixies flying and chirping around them breaking the silence. Somewhere in the distance, music continued to play.

  Once they had arrived inside, Arrian stormed past Delos without a word and began pacing the living area. Delos, seeming to sense that they needed privacy, disappeared without making a sound.

  Sinking into a nearby chair, Phaedra watched Arrian pace, her brow knit with concern.

  “Arrian,” she whispered after a while.

  As if just remembering that she remained in the room, he approached, crouching down in front of her. Taking both of her hands in his, he clutched them tight, bringing them up to his lips. He kissed her knuckles, then rested his forehead against her hands, shuddering as if fighting for control.

  The tension emanating from him was palpable—so thick, she was surprised he didn’t choke on it.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered, reaching up to run one hand through his hair.

  “No, it’s not,” he replied. “This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

  “I know,” she replied. “But I’m still here. I still love you. And I think, I learned a lot about you tonight. I understand things more than I did before.”

  He glanced at her, uncertainty clouding his gaze. “Do you still want to be my wife, knowing what you will marry into?”

  Lowering her head, she kissed him, taking her time to make sure she said with her kiss what she was about to say out loud. “There is nothing that could stop me from wanting to marry you. Not even an asshole for a brother, and a bitch for a sister-in-law. Besides, Jadis is nice. I like her.”

  “She likes you, too,” Arrian declared. “I could tell.”

  “Yes,” said Jadis’ voice from the doorway, “she does.”

  Arrian shot to his feet, turning to face Jadis, who had materialized in the doorway. Coming further into the room, she stood near a window, where the moonlight framed her and the small wooden box she held in her hands.

  “I came to apologize to you both for Arandil’s behavior,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Arrian, I thought that perhaps I could help the two of you mend your relationship. Perhaps I chose the wrong time for it, and I am so sorry. I ruined what was supposed to be a celebration. As well, I did not realize Mother had promised the ring to you. I never would have let them have it if I’d known.”

  Shaking his head, Arrian crossed the room toward his sister. He enveloped her hands in his and lowered his head to kiss her cheek.

  “No, Jadis, you didn’t ruin anything,” he murmured. “Arandil did, and I was not much help. I’m afraid where he’s concerned, I may never find it in myself to forgive.”

  Jadis nodded. “I understand. I’m certain the two of you wish to be alone, so I won’t linger. I just wanted to give you this.”

  Arrian frowned when she placed the little box in his hands. Phaedra watched as he opened it to reveal a ring far different from the one Arrian had wanted. This was made of pure gold, its stone a sumptuous, blood red ruby. Flanked by smaller diamonds, the ring was larger than the other.

  “It isn’t the ring Father gave Mother when they wed,” Jadis said. “But it did belong to her. I think it is well suited for your betrothed.”

  “Yes,” Arrian replied, his voice becoming thick with emotion. “It is. Thank you, Jadis.”

  She stood on tiptoe to hug him, then began to back away toward the door. “I hope it makes up for the way things happened this evening. Phaedra, I hope you and I can spend some time coming to know one another some other time.”

  Smiling, Phaedra nodded. “I would like that.”

  Jadis turned to leave, and became swallowed up by the darkness as she crossed the bridge. Arrian approached her again, dropping to one knee in front of her. Removing the ring from the box, he slid it slowly onto her left ring finger.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  She studied the ring, noticing that the deep red color of the stone complemented her skin tone. “I love it.”

  He smiled, reaching up to cup her cheek. “And I love you.”

  Leaning toward him, she offered her lips. He crushed her against him, his fingers tangling in her hair and holding on tight. She clung to him, gripping the front of his tunic and pulling him closer, until he was practically straddling the chair she sat in. Their lips parted and met over and over, while they clung to each other, Arrian seeming as unwilling to let her go as she was to release him.

  Pulling away, he gasped for air, his gaze burning into hers with longing and need.

  “Phaedra, we have to stop,” he whispered. “If you keep kissing me like that ...”

  She groaned, letting her head drop back to rest against the chair. “I know ... I just can’t help it.”

  He sighed, placing a kiss against her throat. “Neither can I, but ... well, we’ve waited this long, haven’t we? Why not continue to wait? Before long we’ll be wed, and then I won’t have to stop. Ever.”

  A slow smile crept over her face at the thought. Glancing up at him, she rested her hand against his face. “I like the sound of that.”

  Standing, he scooped her into his arms and began making his way toward her room and the little balcony leading down to the river.

  “Now, what do you say to a moonlight swim? You haven’t lived until you’ve swam in this river. The water has restorative properties. When you come out of it, you’ll feel rejuvenated in a way you never have before.”

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held on tight as he began carrying her down to the water.

  “I say, I’ll go anywhere as long as you’re going, too,” she murmured.

  Pausing on the edge of the water, Arrian smiled, then lowered his head for another kiss.

  Chapter Nineteen

  THE THREE DAYS LEADING up to Eranna’s attack seemed to fly past Desdemona in a blur, and before she knew it, she stood on the ramparts of her castle walls, watching and waiting for the enemy army to appear on the horizon. Flanking her on both sides were Eli and Mindirra. Along the wall stood the soldiers who would operate the siege weapons meant to hold Eranna’s forces outside the walls for as long as possible. The reinforcements had yet to arrive from Damu, but Desdemona had faith that they would come. She had misjudged Queen Adrah, who had sent the Fae Warriors—some of whom stood along the tops of the castles towers with their birds, ready to take to the air in defense of the keep. The others remained down in the courtyard, along with her army of Werewolf and Fox Shifters—weapons prepared in the event the castle walls were breached.

  If Adrah sent her own warriors to fight alongside them, then Desdemona trusted that she would ensure the warriors from Damu would come to their aid.

  “Your Majesty,” said Mindirra. “I do wish you had allowed me to teach you how to wield a sword.”

  Amusement curved the corners of her mouth. Mindirra had been pestering her for days, begging her to learn the basics of swordplay.

  “One does not need a sword when one is a walking weapon,” Eli commented.

  Desdemona nodded. “My brother-in-law speaks true. A sword would only weigh me down, Mindirra.”

  “I suppose,” Mindirra grumbled.

  Desdemona had purposely kept her armor and clothing light, so that she could move swiftly without being held back. Her black tunic and leggings had been a gift from Eli—his enchanted Fae clothing, which he’d had altered to fit her.

  “So you don’t burn them away on the battlefield,” he’d said.

&n
bsp; Desdemona wore them beneath the armor her brother-in-law had insisted she put on. Her breastplate had been etched with the image of a Phoenix—black on red enamel. Aside from the pauldrons protecting her shoulders, and the other pieces covering her arms, she’d denied everything else. The rest would only weigh her down. All the metal had been enchanted by one of the Fae Warriors, ensuring it would also shift when she did, becoming covered by her feathers.

  Glancing back out over the snowy expanse stretching before the castle, she sighed. Waiting for a battle to begin was boring business. She allowed her gaze to wander as she waited, and found herself resting on Malachi Voran, yet again.

  She chastised herself for dwelling on the male, but could not seem to stop fixating upon him.

  At first, she’d told herself that it was simply because she hadn’t seen him in a long time, and she’d wanted him to know how grateful she was for the part he played in setting the Phoenix free. Then, she decided it must be because he’d seemed less than thrilled with her offer of gratitude, which had hurt her feelings. Now, she was certain it was because he seemed to be avoiding her, and she didn’t know why.

  She watched him as he stood at his crossbow, both hands braced on the stone wall in front of him. His size and strength were fascinating to her—alluring for reasons she didn’t understand. His animal traits made themselves apparent in the sharp way he watched the horizon, focused like a predator waiting for his prey to appear. The brown suede he wore from head to toe hugged him like a second skin, and his wild tumble of red-brown curls begged to be caressed. The sadness in his eyes made her want to comfort him—to ask him what was wrong, and be the one to make things right for him.

  God above, what has gotten into me?

  Desdemona frowned and looked away, determined not to lose her focus. Malachi had lost his mate, and likely had no interest in a gangly thing like her—queen or no. Aside from that, she had obligations that must come before her own needs. Mollac stood on the precipice of a change, and this battle would determine whether it would be for better or worse. When the fight was over, Malachi would return to his son, and Desdemona would devote herself to ruling Mollac. She was determined to protect her people at all costs, even if it meant remaining alone. If Queen Adrah could do it, so could she.

  “Look,” Eli said from her side, drawing her attention back to the horizon. “There.”

  Trepidation sent a shiver down her spine as she spotted the large, black cloud moving swiftly across the snow toward them. The white snow disappeared beneath them, their darkness casting an ominous shadow over Mollac as they approached.

  “They’re here,” she whispered. “Prepare the archers.”

  “Prepare the archers,” Eli yelled, turning to catch Malachi’s gaze.

  “Archers!” Malachi called out, his voice booming and carrying far enough that every soldier manning a crossbow snapped to attention. “Ready!”

  Desdemona watched as each archer retrieved one of the massive, iron-tipped arrows from the buckets beside them. Fitting them into the crossbows, they pulled the strings back and notched them, readying to take their first shots as commanded.

  Further down the wall, she heard someone yelling for catapults to be prepared. Two-man teams worked to load massive boulders into the catapults. More of the large hunks of stone lined the wall, pushed back to create a path for walking.

  “Hold!” Malachi called out, a call repeated by the leader of those manning the catapults.

  The archers held steady, watching, waiting.

  The dark mass moving toward them parted into two, half of it revealing itself to be Dark Fae flying through the air on the backs of their dark birds. On the ground below, more Dark Fae, Werewolves, and Minotaurs marched toward them, their chants and battle cries echoing across the plains. As they drew closer Desdemona narrowed her eyes, making out her mother at their forefront. She stood on a small, golden chariot, one hand gripping the reins as two massive polar bears pulled her. In her other hand rested the silver spear she fought with whenever she wasn’t using ice against her enemy. Long, white plumes trailed from the silver helmet covering her head, a matching fur pelt hanging from her shoulders. Her silver armor caught the light of the sun, causing Desdemona to squint against its brightness.

  “Hold!” Malachi called out once more, urging the archers to wait until the enemy had drawn closer. The cry echoed up and down the wall, repeated by the catapult leader.

  Desdemona held her breath, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She wanted them to begin, but impatience would cause them to make mistakes. They couldn’t afford to waste any of their projectiles, and waiting until the other army had drawn within range was wise.

  “Steady, sister,” Eli murmured, placing one hand on her shoulder. He seemed to sense her unease. “The battle will begin soon enough. You’ll have your chance.”

  Nodding, she didn’t respond with words. Eli likely understood the need she felt to shift into her animal form and allow instinct to take over. However, a lone Phoenix could not win a battle, and she needed to trust her people to fight alongside her.

  “Aim!” Malachi called out to the archers, taking hold of his own crossbow and bending so that the arrow would follow his line of sight.

  All around her the other archers followed suit. The enemy army was coming faster now, running toward Semran Hall as if they intended to batter themselves against the walls to knock them down. Eranna’s chariot rumbled across the snow, keeping pace with the Werewolves and Foxes who, even in their two-legged forms, were faster than the rest.

  “Fire!” Malachi commanded.

  The archers followed the command, releasing their arrows in a synchronized hiss. Desdemona watched as they arced up through the air before hurtling down. She fought not to cheer as almost all the arrows found their marks, embedding themselves into several of the soldiers marching at the front of Eranna’s formation. It would take more than one volley of arrows to dent their numbers.

  “Archers, ready!” Malachi yelled, at the same time the catapult master cried, “Catapults, loose!”

  While the archers prepared their second round of arrows, the two-person teams working the catapults let loose with their boulders. In a staggered sequence, the heavy wooden beams of the catapults swung forward, hurling projectiles out toward their opponents. Two of the boulders hit the ground and rolled, slamming into the front lines. Bodies went flying as the boulders crashed into several of them at once, while others continued running, curving around the rocks to avoid impact.

  One of the projectiles fell short, rolling to a stop before reaching the army. Five others fell beyond the front lines, crushing Minotaurs and Dark Fae beneath them as they hurtled to the ground at the center of their formations.

  Desdemona stood and watched, her fingernails digging into her palms as more arrows and boulders began flying away from the wall, synchronized to the cries of “Ready ... fire!” from Malachi and “Catapults ... loose!” from further down the ramparts.

  Even as the arrows struck true and the boulders crushed anything in their path, it seemed they’d hardly made a dent in the army’s numbers.

  Before long, the army ground to a halt, stopping within several feet of the castle walls. Desdemona clenched her jaw, gazing down at her mother, who remained in her chariot, staring back at her with narrowed eyes. Behind Eranna, her army pounded their weapons against the ground in a drum-like cadence, their chants and war cries echoing out across the air, while overhead, the Dark Fae who flew on their birds circled like vultures waiting to pick over a corpse.

  Taking a step closer to the wall, Desdemona raised her chin. “Eranna Ravenmoore of Mollac, you have been banished from these lands,” she called out, voice raised. “Turn your army around and leave this place, or you will suffer the consequences!”

  Leaning casually against the side of her chariot, Eranna laughed. The sound traveled, carrying straight to Desdemona and stoking her annoyance.

  “Consequences, you say?” she taunted.
“If anyone here need fear consequences, it is you, daughter. Come, now, cease these games and open the gates. Give Mother back her castle, and all will be forgiven. The time for playing queen is at an end for you.”

  “I am not a child!” she spat, her face flaming hot with anger. “And I am the true queen of Mollac. The people have accepted me in your place, and I will fight for them until my very last breath.”

  All humor fled from Eranna’s voice, and the mocking smile melted away from her face. “If that’s the way you want it ... so be it.”

  Raising one hand, she arced it through the air, pointing toward the walls, a silent command to her army. From overhead, the Dark Fae responded, guiding their birds straight toward the castle, intending to fly over the walls.

  “Archers, to the sky! Take down the birds!” Malachi called out, already taking aim with his own crossbow.

  The birds of the Dark Fae filled the air with the sounds of their wings, while the hiss of the arrows being loosed seemed to answer the whisper.

  Two of the Dark Fae went down, while the others steered their birds around the arrows.

  Then, everything erupted into chaos. Malachi commanded the archers to fire at will, and the men manning the crossbows followed the command, notching and firing arrows as fast as their arms would allow.

  From behind her, a command rang out from one of the Fae Warriors, prompting a swift response from the Undays’e. Their birds took to the air, flying out to meet the Dark Fae. The clash of weapons rang out over the plains in concert with the squawk of birds as dark met light in the sky. From the backs of their birds the Warrior Fae fought against the Eendi, the occasional death sending showers of silvery dust raining down toward the snow.

  Another shouted command went up from Eranna, and in response, the ranks around her parted to allow a large group of Minotaurs to march through. Huddled in a close formation, they seemed to carry something in their midst, with those on the outside of the formation holding up large silver shields to protect it. As one, they began marching toward the gates.