Fireborn

by David Dalglish

  Bree flung her feet before her as she neared her home, changing the angle of the wings so they pushed against her momentum instead of with it. Slowing to a hover, she reduced the throttle, descending gently before the door to Aunt Bethy’s house. The door was already open before her feet touched ground, Bethy rushing out to embrace her.

  “I saw,” she said, clutching Bree tightly. “I saw, you wonderful girl, I saw, and I cannot be more proud.”

  She was crying. At first Bree thought it was just out of relief, but then her aunt pulled back, blinking away tears, and apologized.

  “I’m sorry, Bree,” she said, pulling a scrap of paper from within a pocket of her blouse. “A soldier brought me this.”

  Frowning, Bree took it, angling the paper so the red light of the midnight fire shone upon its letters.

  Breanna Skyborn,

  Your brother is in my possession. If you care for his safety, come speak with me at the holy mansion. If you do, I swear neither of you will come to harm.

  It was signed by the Speaker himself.

  “When did you get this?” Bree asked, crumpling the paper in her fist.

  “A few hours ago,” she said. “I’m sorry, Bree, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know where you were, or how to find you.”

  Hours ago, thought Bree. Which meant before the attack on the garrison. Before she’d revealed her rebellion to all of Weshern. The Speaker’s offer for Kael’s safety might no longer be valid. Worse, he might have viewed her showcase as an open refusal of his invitation.

  “Bree?”

  She looked up. Her aunt was staring at her expectantly. Waiting for a decision.

  “It’s not safe here any longer,” Bree said, her mind made up. “Do you know of a place to hide?”

  “If you can get me to Selby, I can hide with the Briars,” she said.

  Aunt Bethy had married once, when Kael and Bree were toddlers, but her husband had died in an accident in the fields. She’d never remarried, but remained close with his family, the Briars, visiting them on occasion. It was a distant enough relationship that people from Center might not think to search there immediately, and even if they did, it would be difficult to find her given how many places she could hide among the fields.

  “That’ll work,” Bree said. “I can drop you off on the way.”

  “Way where?” Bethy asked. “To the mansion?”

  “No,” Bree said. “To Argus. If the Speaker wants a visit, I’ll give him one, but I’m not going alone.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  The glow of Bree’s light element was fading when she and her aunt landed on the soft grass surrounding the small town of Selby.

  “Thank God,” Aunt Bethy said as she released her grip about Bree’s neck. “I thought my arms would give out before we arrived.”

  “I’d have caught you before you hit ground,” Bree said.

  “I’m sure you would have, but it’s not an experience I’d enjoy either way.”

  Bree could hardly argue with that. They’d fled their home on foot, the skies too full of knights to risk flight just yet. After an hour passed, and they’d left Lowville far behind, Bree decided it safe enough to take to the air. Aunt Bethy hung beneath her, her arms around Bree’s neck, Bree’s arms looped underneath her aunt’s shoulders. They’d flown low and steady, skimming a few dozen feet above the ground while a nerve-racked Bree kept her head on a swivel, searching for incoming patrols from all directions. The fact that they’d made it without being spotted felt like a minor miracle.

  “You’ll need to lie low until Center’s removed from Weshern soil,” Bree said. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. I should have warned you first so you could prepare.”

  “Enough, Bree,” her aunt said. “You just jammed your finger in the Speaker’s eye, and you want to apologize? Worry about yourself, and let me handle my own. The weight on your shoulders is far greater than mine, and far more important.”

  Before Bree could argue, Bethy grabbed her wrist, forced her close.

  “You did the right thing,” her aunt said, as if Bree were ten years old once more. “And I’d never make you apologize for doing the right thing.”

  Bree stared into a face aged by countless hours in the sun and the demands of raising children not her own. Shadows danced across those worry lines, lit by the rippling midnight fire.

  “You’re right,” she said. “But I also put Kael’s life in greater danger. If something happens to him, nothing will wash away that guilt. Nothing. Which means we have to hurry. Kael’s not going to spend another hour in the Speaker’s grasp, not while I’m still breathing.”

  “Then fly on,” Bethy said. “And don’t you worry about me. It’s not that far a walk to the Briar farm. On land that wide, there’s plenty of places for me to hide should Center’s soldiers come looking.”

  Bree flung her arms around her aunt, and she clenched her eyes tightly shut.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Stay safe, all right?”

  “I will, I promise,” Aunt Bethy said, holding her close and kissing the top of her head. “Now go. You’ve a war to fight.”

  Bree sniffled once but kept herself under control. Stepping back, she waved, thumbed her wings to life, and flew.

  So far from Fort Luster, Bree felt safe enough to go full throttle so long as she kept low to the ground. Warwick was fairly close, and she envied the peaceful look of the town as she raced overhead toward the Aquila Forest. Bree spun about to ensure no knights lurked in the distance, then settled down beside the tree line and hurried within.

  The mood was jovial when Bree entered the camp. She heard several cheer when they saw her, but it wasn’t her name they shouted, but that of the Phoenix. Dozens of Seraphim rushed about, removing wing harnesses, checking gear, and sharing stories. Bree headed toward the leader’s tent, not bothering to remove her own wings.

  “Hey, did you think you’d get away so easily?”

  She turned to find Brad barreling down on her, arms wrapping about her in a bear hug. Despite the weight of her wings, he still managed to lift her two inches off the ground.

  “Good to see you, too,” she said when he set her back down.

  “People started landing, and you weren’t with them,” Brad said. “Been worried sick about you, especially when your little fire trail in the sky vanished.”

  “Well, I’m clearly fine,” she said, trying to smile. She didn’t want Brad to know about Kael, not until she had a plan. It would only worry him without reason. “Sorry to run on you, but I need to speak with Argus.”

  “Course you do,” Brad said, and he gave her a goofy grin. “We kicked their asses tonight, didn’t we?”

  Worries for her brother aside, she couldn’t disagree with that statement.

  “That we did,” she said, touching his beefy left arm and giving it a squeeze. “And soon you’ll be out there with us, kicking ass in person.”

  He laughed, and she hurried away, dashing into the command tent. Argus and Rebecca stood in the light of a single candle, poring over numbers the former over-secretary had updated. The commander had removed his wings as well as his black jacket, which hung over the top of a nearby chair.

  “Bree!” Argus said when she entered the tent. He smiled wide in the candlelight. “I saw your display, as did half the island. I’m glad you made it back safely.”

  “We need to talk,” Bree said. “It’s about Kael.”

  “I’m sure your brother is safe,” Rebecca said, eyes still on her parchment. “He’s a resourceful lad, and he’ll understand what your signal in the sky meant. He’ll find somewhere safe to—”

  “No,” Bree said, pulling the paper from Rebecca’s hand so she’d look up. “A soldier delivered my aunt a letter just before we attacked. The Speaker’s captured Kael, and he’s holding him prisoner at the holy mansion.”

  Both froze as if the blood in their veins had turned to ice.

  “What does he want?” Argus asked.
r />   “Supposedly for me to speak with him at the mansion. Beyond that, it didn’t say.”

  The two leaders of the resistance glanced to one another, messages passing between them without either needing to speak a word.

  “And were you planning to go?” Argus asked carefully.

  “Not to speak,” Bree said, steeling herself for the expected resistance. “I want to attack.”

  Blank stares from the both of them.

  “Attack?” Rebecca asked. “When? Now?”

  “Why not now?” Bree asked. She gestured out the tent. “Our forces are gathered here, and because of Johan, we have the elements we need. We know where Marius is, right there in the mansion, vulnerable to attack.”

  “Nothing about him will be vulnerable,” Argus said, anger pushing through his calm shell. “He’ll be surrounded by the most skilled knights in all of Center, protected inside a mansion designed to withstand an attack by enemy Seraphim. If we’re to have any chance, we’d need to surprise him, a task made impossible by the fact we’ve stirred up every single damn knight in Weshern with our attack on Fort Luster, not to mention that he’s expecting you. This isn’t a plan, Bree. It’s a suicide, and I refuse to allow it to happen.”

  Bree clenched her fists at her sides, telling herself to remain calm.

  “You misunderstand me,” Bree said. “I am going. Whether I go alone, or with an army, is up to you.”

  “If you do this, you die,” Argus said, slamming his fist on the table.

  Bree flinched at the noise.

  “An opinion I share,” she said. “But I’m not staying here while Marius does who-knows-what to my brother. I won’t leave Kael’s fate in the Speaker’s hands. I’m going to take it, and put it in my own.”

  Argus sighed through clenched teeth, and he glanced to Rebecca. The smaller woman tucked a strand of brown hair away from her face, lips stretched thin across her teeth.

  “If Marius died there’d be enormous turmoil in Center while the Erelim picked a new Speaker,” she said. “Between the threat of our rebellion and Johan’s growing movement, it might cause the new Speaker to sue for peace.”

  “Might,” Argus said, and he gestured to the stack of notes. “Or we fail, and dozens of our Seraphim die in a futile attempt to kill the Speaker and rescue a single captured Seraph. We’re still building up our forces and supplies. Why risk it all in a hopeless gamble?”

  “Then I go on my own,” Bree said, heart pounding in her chest. “Is that a loss you’re willing to accept?”

  Argus turned to Bree, staring at her as if she were a brand-new person, one he failed to recognize. Outside, a few men shouted, something Bree couldn’t make out.

  “You overestimate your importance,” he said. “You’re a symbol, and a powerful fighter, but neither is greater than the lives of all those who’d die tonight. Kael is your brother, but to me, he’s one single Seraph. We’re not attacking. If you want to rush off and commit suicide, then so be it, but don’t try to pass the blame onto me.”

  Bree felt her resolve breaking.

  “I just want to rescue my brother,” she said. “Is that so wrong?”

  “And I want to keep you, Kael, and all my other Seraphim alive,” Argus said. “We don’t always get what we want, Bree. Sometimes we have to make do with the least terrible of fates. But...” He looked away momentarily. “I don’t want you to think your sacrifices are unacknowledged. We will do all we can to confirm Kael’s location and then rescue him the moment it appears feasible.”

  Bree was surprised by how close she was to tears. More shouts outside, but she ignored them.

  “I understand,” she said. “I’ll stay and await your command.”

  Argus started to reach toward her, for an embrace or pat on her shoulder, she didn’t know, but he pulled back and instead thudded a fist against his breast.

  “You were beautiful tonight,” he said. “It was a privilege to fly at your side.”

  And then a shard of ice pierced a hole through their tent and struck Argus across the temple.

  Blood splattered as Argus’s head snapped to the side. His eyes rolled, a strange mutter escaping his lips as he dropped limp to the dirt with a muted thud. Bree screamed, her entire body freezing in place. Rebecca dropped to Argus’s side, amber eyes scanning his wound in the dim light. Bree forced herself to act, but before she’d taken a single step a blade pushed through the hole created by the ice lance and cut downward, ripping open a new entrance.

  What stepped through made no sense to Bree. It was a man wrapped head to toe in black cloth, with only a single gap left for his eyes. In his left hand he held a short blade, one side smooth and sharp, the other viciously serrated. His right hand bore a silver Seraph’s gauntlet, only he wore no wings. Instead the wires at the base of the gauntlet connected with a small metal cylinder strapped between his shoulder blades. The man spotted Bree and lifted his gauntlet. Blue light shimmered from the focal point, and Bree twisted to one side while drawing her swords. A shard of ice launched from the man’s gauntlet, striking the metal of her wings. The ice shattered, leaving a deep dent that might interfere with the wing’s proper functioning. At the moment, Bree couldn’t care. All that mattered was closing the distance so her swords could do their work.

  Bree launched herself forward while rotating, right blade lashing out for her foe’s neck, left following up with a chop at his shoulder. The wingless man flung his gauntlet in the way of the first, Bree’s sword clanging off the thick steel, hardly leaving a dent. With the other hand he pushed up with his sword, stepped closer while ducking underneath, and then thrust for Bree’s chest. Poorly positioned, Bree retreated, using both blades to ward off a series of slashes. When she reached the edge of the tent, she braced for another barrage, but instead he stopped, gauntlet rising.

  Rebecca lunged from the ground, shoving his elbow upward and saving Bree’s life. The ice lance shot high, ripping another hole in the top of the tent. The man pulled free of her grasp, then swung his arm back, elbow leading. It crashed against her nose, blasting blood down across her lips and neck. She crumpled, but Bree rushed in before he could finish her off, taking the offensive with a series of thrusts and cuts she knew would have made Dean proud. Despite her skill, her foe danced around her, and not once did she draw blood. He was faster than her, more fluid, but she had one advantage. By blocking her swords with his gauntlet, it showed he didn’t know who she was, and what she could do.

  Bree parried a swipe, flung herself to one side to avoid another shot of ice, and then swung her right blade for his neck. As she’d hoped, he used his gauntlet to block while simultaneously setting his sword up for a killing thrust...only this time Bree activated the fire of her prism just prior to contact. The flame burst to life, hot and vicious. Compared to it, the metal of the gauntlet meant nothing. Her sword tore through steel, flesh, and then bone, severing the hand and gauntlet from the man’s arm before continuing on. Quick as the fire appeared, Bree banished it right before her sword sliced open his jugular.

  The last thing she wanted was her fire to seal the wound.

  Her foe collapsed to his knees, then crumpled face-first into the dirt, blood gushing from his neck.

  “What was that?” Bree asked, pointing a bloody blade at the black-garbed man.

  “A specter,” Rebecca said, returning to Argus’s side. She pressed his jacket against the wound on his head, attempting to stanch the bleeding. “Wingless assassins from Center. You need to get out of here, Bree, now!”

  “But what about him?”

  Rebecca glanced up, blood still trickling from her nose. Outside, screams of fear and pain sang a grim chorus.

  “The least terrible of fates,” she echoed. “If specters are here, so are Center’s knights. The camp is lost. Flee, Breanna. Flee to fight another day.”

  She wanted to argue, but she knew once Rebecca made up her mind, no force in the world would change it. Stone in her throat, she saluted with her sword.


  “It was an honor fighting for you,” Bree said, and before guilt could stop her, she pushed open the tent flap and stepped outside.

  The entire camp was in chaos. Fires burned throughout, both trees and tents. Scorch marks covered the ground from blasts of lightning. Specters weaved through the camp, gauntlets unleashing endless streams of elements as they danced from prey to prey. Some Seraphim battled, others fled, weaving through the trunks as they flew higher. Those without wings could only run from the specters. Most died, shards of ice shattering their spines and bolts of lightning exploding their hearts in their chests. High above, wings thrummed. Stones crashed through the branches, crushing tent and bone alike as they slammed down. Balls of flame followed, exploding into rolling plumes upon hitting ground.

  Bree couldn’t take it all in, could barely fathom what she was seeing. So many bodies. So many dead. Releasing her fire, she bathed her twin blades. She’d promised to flee, but too many were helpless. She had to buy them time. Spotting the nearest specter, she poured life into her wings and flew. The specter’s back was to her, and she died instantly, Bree’s swords ramming through her back and out her chest. Pushing the body forward, Bree tilted upward, ripping her weapons free in an explosion of gore. Another specter spotted her, and he raised a gauntlet, tracking her flight. Bree curled right, and his shot of lightning thundered into the trunk of a tree instead.