The Iron Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  Shouting roused him out of his thoughts. Gedeon peered across the street, through the crowds, to the door of a bakery. He cocked his head, interested.

  Something threw the door open, moving so fast he could not tell if it was a person or not. The shouting grew louder, but he could not hear any words, the noises from the revelers below too noisy.

  Three Erevan men tumbled out the door. They spat and threw slurs at the surprised Nomori that surrounded them. “Unnatural freaks!”

  One wiped blood from his face. “You kill more of us, and you’ll pay!”

  A few Nomori men moved to restrain them, and the Erevans took off running. In the chaos, something left the shop. This time, Gedeon was sure it was a person, though he could not make out more than that.

  On this street, much of merrymaking had stopped. Gedeon paid it no more heed. He slipped back into his thoughts, though this time they were considerably more cheerful. To think that he had not used his power on those men. Not in the slightest. He’d never seen them before in his life.

  And yet, they were as much under his spell as the Nomori guardsman had been.

  He looked over the scene, taking in the crying children, the stiff-jawed older folk who had heard too many similar things, the overenergized youths whose urge to take rapiers and invade the second tier was only tempered by a calm hand on their shoulders.

  Puppets. His puppets. As easy to play without his power as with.

  He smiled. Perhaps, it was time to see how much he was truly capable of. To show those who dreaded him and his kind that there was truly something to fear.

  He climbed down from the roof, staying in the shadows of the culvert. His knees jarred painfully when he dropped the last few paces. Gedeon ignored the pain. He melded into the crowd, searching every face he passed.

  A young Nomori man, no older than twenty-five, passed him, and Gedeon nodded to himself. He tapped the man on the shoulder. When he turned around, Gedeon pounced, reaching for the well of blackness, taking out his will and shoving his own mind in.

  When it was done, he leaned in close and whispered his instructions.

  *

  The next day, despite it being only a bit after the noon bell, Nadya’s house flickered with the light from the glowing embers in their kiln. The sun hadn’t come out from behind the clouds that morning, and Storm’s Quarry awoke to a thick fog that tickled the surface of the Kyanite Sea. The storms would come soon, and hard.

  She sat in her loft. Below her, the small living area swam around, unfocused. Her pallet felt hard, unfamiliar. Knees drawn up to her chest, Nadya focused on breathing. In and out. Slow but strong.

  Shadar had left her to return to the Guardhouse at dawn, and without her father’s solid presence, the overwhelming memories of last night would not let her mind be. Kesali’s kiss, a sensory overload Nadya didn’t know what to do with, especially since she was committed to seeing her again tonight. Then Brishen’s bakery. The feeling of bone snapping beneath her fingers. The smell of blood. The roar of bloodlust pounding in her ears.

  You are lucky no one died. Do not be fool enough to believe things will turn out that way again. Her chastising thoughts took on her grandmother’s voice.

  Mirela coughed from the next room. Nadya stared at the hanging rug that separated their home from her shop. She wished she could talk to her mother about this. None of it made sense, and she needed some wisdom. Should she not see Kesali again, for fear of what she could do to her? Should she never use her abilities again for the same reason? As noble as that sounded, Nadya was not ready to give up all she enjoyed in life in the name of fear. Did that make her a fool?

  “Nadya, come here please,” her mother called.

  She knew she looked a mess as she slowly stretched out her legs. Ignoring the ladder, she jumped down. She padded across the stone floor, parted the hanging rug, and leaned on the stone counter.

  Mirela sat at the stone bench on the other side of the small space. Above her sweat-soaked brow, a myriad of tools hung from metal hooks. She held a pair of tweezers over a piece Nadya couldn’t see. Jars of enamel and various instruments were scattered around her mother in her usual finishing-up-a-piece mess.

  “How is the work on the neck piece going?” she asked finally, just to break the silence.

  Her mother didn’t turn from her work. “Nadya, I need you make some more deliveries today.”

  Nadya gritted her teeth. “I can’t. I am sorry, but I’m busy this afternoon and evening.”

  “This is important,” her mother said. Her eyes did not leave her work. Despite their thinness, her hands moved deftly. The many calluses that marked her as a master jeweler—to the embarrassment of many Nomori, including Drina—danced as she worked the opal onto the chain.

  Nadya watched with a bit of jealousy. She could not make such beautiful things. Her abnormal strength meant she snapped the tools if she tried. “I know, but I can do it tomorrow. I promise.” Today, she could barely handle getting into fresh clothes and dealing with the Kesali situation.

  “Your promises mean less these days.”

  Nadya swallowed. She didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “The storms will come any day, and the tiers will flood with rain, faster than the pumps can work. I need to finish and deliver all of my commissions before then.”

  “But Kesali—”

  “You must look after your own family first, Nadezhda. I thought I’d taught you as much.” With a clang, her mother dropped her tweezers and picked up the finished neck piece. It was breathtakingly beautiful, shimmering in the low light of the workshop.

  “You sound like Grandmother.”

  “Your grandmother may be many things, but she is loyal and unwavering when it comes to what means the most. A lesson you need to learn.” Mirela sighed, shaking her head. “I’m not feeling well today, so I won’t argue. If you are so unwilling, then I will deliver this to the fourth tier, as well as the rest of the packages.”

  Nadya bit her lip. “Mama, let me go. You shouldn’t be going alone, not when you’re not feeling well. I am sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

  Mirela’s dark eyes met her own. They were of the same height, but while Nadya was sturdy and thickly built, her mother looked like a storm wind could blow her away. Nadya tried to smile, but the disappointment etched on her mother’s features melted it.

  “No, I will go. Nadezhda, you have no idea how much I want to believe you. I have not been able to fathom what’s going on in your mind for some time, and you tell me nothing.” She sighed again. “I pray to the Protectress that changes one day.” Donning a cloak, her mother shut the door behind her.

  I wish I could, Mama. I feel like I’m losing you. But if I told you the truth about everything, I would lose you and Papa. And I couldn’t bear that.

  *

  The six o’clock bell chimed at every tier, echoing throughout all of Storm’s Quarry. Seated with her back against the warm kiln, Nadya heard it and sighed. She leaned forward to peer into her mother’s workshop. Mirela had not yet returned.

  Her mother’s deliveries usually took a while. Wealthy courtiers and merchants would invite her in for a cup of tea to talk about the Nomori and their unique customs. Mirela would answer every question patiently and with a smile to ensure a future commission. Yes, this was nothing to be worried about.

  Of course, if Nadya had been a good daughter and had just taken the packages, she wouldn’t be worrying at all. She wished Mirela hadn’t insisted on doing it herself after Nadya’s refusal, but a prideful streak did run in the Gabori family.

  Nadya levered herself up and looked down at her clothes. She would need to leave soon if she was to arrive at the theater on time, and she needed to put on something other than dust-covered trousers and a nightshirt.

  She spent ten minutes rummaging through her meager wardrobe and selected a pair of sky-blue trousers, a white undershirt, and a maroon vest. Kesali had once remarked that the deep red made her face glow. At the t
ime, Nadya had frowned and given her a good-natured jab, but now she found herself picking up the richly colored vest. She dressed, then grabbed the depleted pouch of palace coins and stuffed it into her belt pouch.

  She hesitated at the door. The thick, damp air of evening soon raised a sheen of sweat on her forehead and under her arms. After last night, should she even go?

  Biting her lip, Nadya left her house and sealed the door shut. Perhaps it was foolish and selfish of her, but she would rather spend an evening with Kesali and their uncertain future than an evening alone at home wondering what-if.

  It would have been much faster to don her new disguise and leap across buildings to reach the arts district in the fourth tier. However, Nadya did not want to be spotted or to arrive windswept and sweating like a miner in summer, so she elected to walk. A faint breeze blew through the streets of the lower tiers, tossing her hair gently and providing some respite from the humidity. She walked through the three tiers and climbed each set of marble steps, taking the better part of an hour before reaching the fourth tier. The guardsmen glared at her as she entered, but it was not technically restricted to the Nomori. They searched her carefully before finally letting her pass.

  Nadya sucked in a deep breath of fresh, sweet-smelling air. Here, the wealthiest citizens of Storm’s Quarry lived in manors that lined the scrubbed cobblestone streets on either side, separated by small gardens of ferns and flowers. Ornate freestanding buildings filled the tier up until the tall wall that separated the Duke’s palace at the top of the hill from the rest of the city. It looked different from the ground. She kept her eyes down. Most of the tier’s inhabitants who were out and about that evening rode past her in carriages. Others strolled, a parasol in one hand and a leash with a tiny barking dog in the other. Nomori did not belong up here, and even if they weren’t precisely banned, the dark looks and cold mutterings were enough to tell Nadya she was not welcome.

  The city’s theater stood four stories tall and proud in the middle of the arts district. A museum sat on its left, a gallery on its right. People milled about in front of the marble columns, waiting for the doors to open and the evening’s show to begin. Nadya’s chest began to squirm as she saw all the beautiful ladies in their dresses, jewels, and overcoats. She heard them chattering about inane things. Where conversation in the lower parts of the city rarely turned from the oncoming storm, here it were barely acknowledged.

  She was still on the other side of the street when the gnawing feeling in her chest became too much. Nadya turned to bolt. She nearly bumped into a man wearing a fine coat. He muttered something about Nomori bastards and walked around her as if she had been a tree or a bench.

  I don’t belong here. I’ll go home, find Mama, and hire a pigeon to be sent to Kesali with an apology and an excuse…

  “You look like a cat caught on driftwood in the middle of a flood.” Kesali skipped up beside her.

  Nadya mumbled a hello. They stared at each other for a moment, before Kesali stepped forward and embraced her lightly. Nadya caught a whiff of cinnamon before she pulled away. “Thanks for coming. You look wonderful.”

  “Not half as much as you,” Nadya said, pulse racing. It was true. Kesali wore trousers and vest. Ornate embroidery brought a phoenix and flames alive, red against stark black. The vest might have been a traditional Nomori cut, but there was nothing familiar in the fine clothing. This must be something new, something made in the fourth tier, paid for by the palace.

  “Are you all right?” Kesali asked softly. “Last night—”

  “Is something I really do not wish to talk about,” Nadya said. It came out harsher than intended. “Sorry, I am just tired, and…”

  “I understand.”

  There was something different between them, a new awkwardness that Nadya could practically feel rubbing up and down her skin. Was it because of the kiss, or because she was pulling away?

  “Shall we go in? I’m sure between the two of us, we will be able to raise some eyebrows and challenge some notions of propriety.” Kesali offered Nadya her arm, and she took it before she could think of what she was doing.

  The ticket master frowned as the two Nomori women approached him. “This is not a charity show. No tickets, no admittance.”

  Kesali did not flinch. In flawless Erevo, she said, “Lord Marko has two tickets reserved for us in his family’s private box.”

  His face whitened to the color of old porridge, and Nadya tried to keep herself from giggling. He bustled through his notes, muttering to himself. “Ah, yes. Milady,” he said, somewhat forcefully, “our humble theater is glad you have graced us with your patronage. We have the private box for you and Lord Marko ready.”

  “Marko sends his apologies, but his duty draws him away. My friend Nadezhda Gabori has deigned to accompany me in his stead.” Her words were polite, but the gleam in Kesali’s eye dared the man to argue.

  “Of course, milady. Welcome, Miss Gabori. I will have an usher show you to your seats at once.” He called over a sweating boy in green.

  Kesali turned to Nadya. “First dancing at the festival, now Nomori at the theater. Twice in as many days. Look at us, causing pandemonium wherever we go.”

  Nadya stifled a laugh as the usher led them through the ornate metal gates and up a flight of carpeted stairs.

  “If you keep your mouth open like that,” Kesali whispered, “a bird will come and nest in it.”

  Nadya blushed and clamped her mouth shut. She could not stop staring, however. The walls were covered with frescos depicting scenes from the stage. Their brilliant colors almost hurt her eyes. Her boots plodded up the soft steps, and Nadya wondered how many laborers it took to keep the finery free from the perpetual damp of the city.

  The stairs opened into a small balcony with four satin-covered chairs. Its air smelled slightly of incense, filled with the soft chatter of courtiers and merchants in the seats below. The usher helped each of them sit, and both Kesali and Nadya had to restrain their laughter at being treated as if they were fragile courtier ladies. He bowed and left.

  The stage consumed her view. Polished wood gleamed in the gaslights that hung along the walls. Huge blood-colored curtains cut across the center of it. Beneath them, dozens of seats crowded up against the edge of the stage. Men and women, wearing elaborate jewels and hats with feathers, slowly filled them.

  Kesali whistled softly. “Several times I’ve been here, but I’m still not used to this. I could never have imagined such a beautiful place while I ran through the alleys of the sea-scum tier.”

  Nadya winced at the Erevan name for her home. Several times? She hadn’t mentioned that. Kesali didn’t seem to notice her choice of words. She was watching the people who trickled into their seats below. Nadya wondered if Kesali would want to be counted among them.

  Finally, she said quietly, “Please do not call our home that.”

  Kesali put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Nadya, I’m sorry. It slipped out.” When Nadya had no response, she continued, tripping over her words. “I spend most of my time at the palace now, and you should hear how they talk. Even the well-meaning ones. I had to talk like one of them to fit in. I was already an outsider there.”

  “And what would your mother say, leaving your people behind to fit in?” Truthfully, she did not know if she directed the question at Kesali, or at herself.

  “She would tell me to do whatever I had to in order to save our peoples.” Kesali straightened in her seat. “And I will. I have my mother’s gift. She saved everyone with it twenty years ago. We weren’t welcome in Storm’s Quarry, but she had a vision of a storm, the likes of which even this place had never seen. No matter how much kinship we felt with the water, even our ships would’ve wrecked had we tried to escape the sea. Storm’s Quarry was the only sanctuary from the storm, so she met with the Duke, and together, they saved everyone. When she died, she told me that because I inherited her psychic gift of storm sight, it was now my duty to protect the city.”

 
Nadya swallowed. “That’s a lot to place on the shoulders of a twelve-year-old.”

  “I’m not twelve anymore. I apprentice at the palace because it furthers that end. I am sorry if you don’t like it,” she said, not meeting Nadya’s gaze.

  Biting her lip, Nadya slowly reached over and clasped Kesali’s leg ever so gently. “I’m sorry for my words. I’m just tired, and things with my mother have not been good for a long time. I…I share your vision. And I have no doubt that when the time comes, you will protect the city.”

  Kesali smiled at her. Before anything else could be said, the lights dimmed and the curtains pulled back. When the first dancer came onto the stage, the magic of the ballet made her even forget the woman sitting beside her.

  The dance told the story of a pair of lovers across time whose love was doomed to fail. Women in elaborate costumes rose on the points of their toes and moved with a grace and balance that Nadya did not think even her abilities could give her. She sneaked a glance at Kesali, whose eyes followed the movements below with fierce attention. Did she see their own story through the performance? Nadya looked back to the dancers, at the rigid muscles in their arms as they reached for one another. She glanced down to where Kesali’s hand rested on the arm of the chair. Her own fingers twitched. Could she be so bold, as brave as Kesali had been with the kiss? She wrestled with herself, preoccupied.

  Kesali shifted in her seat, drawing her hand away. “There’s a guardsman down there. They don’t visit places like this without cause.”

  She looked to where Kesali pointed. A young man in Nomori trousers and vest wove his way through the final rows of seats and jumped onto the stage with the precision and balance of a Nomori fighter. Her stomach dropped as the man turned, drawing his rapier, and Nadya saw his face.

  His eyes were completely, seamlessly black. Just like Duren’s.

  Chapter Six

  The black eyes that surveyed the crowd with a palpable disgust latched on to Nadya. Her mouth went dry. Again, it was happening again. Exactly like that night in the fourth tier. Instead of spurring action, the thought spun a great lethargy around her. She couldn’t move. She was shackled by the nightmare that was coming to life before her. She barely breathed. Next to her, Kesali rose. She spoke to the usher, pointing to the man on the stage. Nadya didn’t hear her words. The wooden armrests of her chair cracked under her grip as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing.