The Iron Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  “Oh, good, you’re awake. Come down, Nadezhda. We were just talking about you.”

  Nadya jerked up and hit her head on the slanted ceiling. She was so used to it by now, though, it barely hurt. Donning a vest, she then slipped on the least-wrinkled pair of trousers she had. She suppressed a yawn and slid down the ladder.

  Her grandmother was standing there. Nadya suppressed a curse. Early light filtered in from the gap in the stones that served as a window. She blinked at it grumpily. She’d stayed up half the night, thinking about the murders, the mysterious circumstances that connected them, and how she might go about finding the truth behind it all. She came up with little. Nadya still didn’t know if the murders were connected to the attack on the Guardhouse.

  If not, she thought as she grabbed a stale roll from the pantry, then it was only an aftereffect.

  She paused. That hadn’t occurred to her in her sleep-addled state. Perhaps it was, and more importantly, perhaps it was the intended effect of the murders: rouse everyone into a violent panic and cause as much chaos as possible.

  She frowned and gulped down the roll in two bites. But how were the rioters and the zealot able to get that much gunpowder?

  “You look half-asleep,” Drina said, rousing Nadya from her ruminations.

  “She’s had a lot to worry about lately,” Mirela said. She smiled at Nadya from where she sat swathed in blankets, drinking from a clay mug. Nadya’s nostrils twitched. The drink smelled of the stubborn herbs she’d bought yesterday, the ones that only her grandmother could bend to her will.

  “Well, worrying never solved anything.” Drina sat herself down on the edge of the pallet.

  “How are you doing, Nadya?” her mother asked. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

  “I’m fine,” Nadya mumbled. Her mother was right. She jumped at every mention of the cloaked man, the Iron Phoenix. “How are you?”

  Before her mother could answer, Drina broke in. “She’s doing better, thanks to some traditional Nomori tea. A cure-all, in my opinion. None of that Erevan physician nonsense.”

  Nadya forced a smile.

  “Well, sit, Nadya. I hope the events of this week didn’t scare you too much. Your father is a strong man, you know. He can survive a lot worse than a fire.” Drina scowled, massaging the joints in her left hand. Nadya sat on the damp stone obediently. “Erevans can’t be patient. No Nomori psychic is ever wrong. The sea will retreat on the day the Stormspeaker predicted.”

  “Let’s not dwell on such thoughts. The sun has made a small appearance today.” Mirela gestured to their window. “Dark words have no place when the sun is shining.”

  Drina snorted. “You inherited your father’s optimism, darling. There’s enough darkness in this city to reach every crevasse, even down here. Did you know that Iron Phoenix man, he’s Nomori?”

  Nadya froze, her bread halfway to her mouth and forgotten.

  “Shadar did mention something like that. He seems to think the Iron Phoenix is more dangerous than helpful.”

  Nadya set her bread down. She wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “I trust that husband of yours in these matters. Any Nomori who hides his face like that is someone who should be treated with the highest suspicion. What is his agenda, hmm?”

  “To save those guardsmen,” Nadya mumbled.

  Drina’s iron gaze turned to her. “I think that’s a pretty naïve interpretation. How do we know he didn’t start the fire in the first place?”

  “Mother,” Mirela began, “you have no reason to be so harsh.”

  Nadya’s voice betrayed a bit of her anger as, ignoring her mother’s words, she said, “Why set a fire just to save its targets? It was the zealot and those rioters who set the fire, and that man was probably just trying to help. He saved Papa, after all. And the Guardmaster.” Nadya’s voice wavered, but she met her grandmother’s eyes.

  “No one can know what goes through the mind of his like. The things I’ve heard about that man.” Drina shook her head, and Nadya suddenly remembered those muttered words, the work of one of the nivasi. Her hands were ice cold, and she rubbed them, staring at the dirt caked between stone tiles on the floor.

  “But since you have so many opinions, perhaps you’d be willing to give them on a different subject.” Drina smiled, and that chilled Nadya even more. “I’ve been talking to the others heads of some good families, nice women all of them, and I have a good selection of their eligible sons and grandsons for you to choose from. You’ll need to choose a good husband to carry on your name by your eighteenth birthday. It’s not too early to start.”

  Nadya almost wished they could go back to talking about the Iron Phoenix. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Of course you don’t,” her grandmother went on, oblivious to the heat that rose in Nadya’s face. “You haven’t met them yet. I’ll set up the first introductions. Don’t worry. You’ll just go into their homes for a bit. You’ll eat a nice meal, and talk to the young men. You won’t even have to ask any questions. I’ve taken care of it all. I know which ones come from good procreating bloodlines—”

  “Grandmother!” Nadya said in a strangled voice. The last thing she wanted to think about was the procreating efficiency of a future husband.

  “I know how important this is,” her mother said. She set down her cup of tea. Some of the color had returned to her cheeks. “But this kind of decision, it shouldn’t be made lightly. With all that’s happening in the city, shouldn’t such things wait? It’s only another month until the solstice.”

  Drina frowned. “Our lives cannot be put on hold for floodwaters or zealots. That’s just what they want. She needs to meet all the suitors and carefully consider her choice. This will affect the rest of her life and the future of the family name. It must be made with the utmost care.”

  “Then why don’t you make it yourself,” Nadya snapped.

  As her grandmother’s sharp gaze rounded on her, she immediately wished she’d been able to bite her tongue. “Love can’t be factored in here, Nadezhda. Love is for those who will not someday be the head of their family. You need a strong husband to stand beside you. I know you have this little crush on some Nomori boy, but you cannot let that cloud your judgment.”

  Little crush could not even come close to describing it, and Nadya’s anger flared at her feelings being described in such a frivolous way, as if they didn’t matter. She stood. “I’m needed at home. Besides, our city is on the brink of civil war. I will not make this decision now. If that’s what you want, then you should leave.”

  Drina’s mouth fell open. She struggled to her feet. “How dare you speak to me like that? I will remain here, caring for your mother, because that is a duty you have sorely neglected these pasts months while chasing a boy who will never be your husband.”

  Guilt devoured her fury, and Nadya stared down at her shaking hands.

  “Perhaps feelings are running too high to discuss this now,” Mirela said quietly. She hadn’t moved from her position curled up against the wall in a brightly embroidered quilt. “Besides, Mother, weren’t you saying earlier that you wanted to visit some of the men who were discharged from the infirmary with smoke in their lungs.”

  Drina sighed and nodded. “Foolish Erevan physicians. You can’t drain someone of blood and think that will cure them. Herbs, burned and taken in through the lungs, that’s the only way to expel the smoke. But that isn’t in their fancy books, so they just sit around, staring dumbly at one another while their patients suffer.” She started collected her things in her belt pouch, muttering about the ineffectiveness of the city’s doctors, then left after kissing Mirela on the cheek and giving Nadya a long look that said this talk is not over.

  She stood stonily for a long moment. Eventually, the city would be saved, the sea would recede, and she would have no more excuses to avoid marriage. Would she be forced into some loveless match with a Nomori boy? Did she have any other options? Ever since the announcement of the royal betrothal, the
future she’d hoped to have had turned to sand, blown away on the icy winds of reality.

  When the door shut, Mirela sighed. “I believe your grandmother got all the stubbornness and strong personality in the Gabori family.” She held out her hands. “Come, sit with me.”

  Nadya crawled onto the pallet until she was cradled against her mother’s frail frame. She didn’t like that she could hear the slight rattle with every breath her mother took.

  “So, you’re chasing a Nomori boy?” Mirela asked with a playful smile.

  “Um…”

  “I know you’re not for sharing, now less than ever, but I’d like to know what romance your grandmother sensed that has her so flustered.”

  Nadya stared at her knees. “I don’t really know. It’s not—”

  “You’re worried for Kesali, aren’t you?”

  “What?” Nadya squeaked. She looked anywhere but her mother’s face, struggling to keep the shock from twisting her expression. If Mirela suspected, if she knew… “I mean, yes. I couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to her. She and I were such good friends, you know.” Good friends, nothing more. Nothing then, nothing now, she reminded herself.

  “Ay. You were inseparable at the evening gatherings, giving the Elders heart pains by your easy acceptance of Erevan customs. I thought your grandmother was going to faint at the last Arane Sveltura festival with the two of you dancing.” Mirela laughed quietly. It turned into a cough. “Have you spent time together since the announcement?” she whispered, her eyes watering.

  “I’ve been busy. Here. Where I should be.” Her mother’s words from the morning of the ballet, which now felt so long ago, still stung.

  “Yes, you have responsibility to this family. But that responsibility is not meant to be an excuse to do nothing else. If you don’t want to see her, do not hide behind your family duties.” Mirela stroked her braid, tucking a stray wisp behind her ear.

  Nadya swallowed. The faint sunlight streaming through the window seemed to intensify, as if the clouds were parting just for this moment. “Mama, I have to tell you something.” When Mirela waited, Nadya gave a silent prayer to the Protectress, out of habit more than faith, and said, “What Grandmother said, about being in love…”

  “Your grandmother is rarely wrong about such things.”

  “I know. And she wasn’t.” Nadya’s thoughts went back to jumping into that burning building in search of her father, and she took a bit of the courage her gray cloak lent her and said, “But it’s not some Nomori boy. It’s Kesali.”

  The silence stretched out. Mirela’s eyes stared dead ahead, her face a mask. Nadya heart began to race. She couldn’t bear to be forced to choose a husband, not now with the pain of Kesali’s betrothal so recent, and she needed her mother to understand. Such relationships, like the love she was proposing, weren’t spoken of among the Nomori. She didn’t think they existed. Maybe they couldn’t. Maybe this was as much as a travesty as being born with an unnatural gift.

  Tears squeezed out of the corner of her eyes. Nadya drew a slow, rattling breath, ordering herself under control.

  Mirela’s voice was soft and even. “Among the Nomori, love like that isn’t allowed. Women choose husbands and marry them, and have children to carry on their family name.”

  A tear leaked out of Nadya’s defenses.

  “It’s different with Erevans. Men make all the choices and stand at the head of the family. They choose their wives, but sometimes, they don’t take wives. Sometimes, women aren’t married to husbands. Your grandmother would call their ways barbaric. The Nomori ways are different.” A small smile crossed Mirela’s face. “But I’ve never been considered a good Nomori.”

  Nadya’s breath caught in her throat as her mother wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close.

  “Oh, Nadya, I’ve known for some time. You might be able to hide it from your father, thick like he is in matters of love, and even from your grandmother, but you can’t hide the spark in your eye when you talk about her. I was just the same at your age, sneaking out, ignoring my duties to spend just another moment with your father.”

  “Mama,” Nadya whispered, and suddenly she was crying into her mother’s shoulder as Mirela’s hand stroked her back. Each touch anchored her, building a shield between Nadya and the storms that plagued the city and her heart. She let herself go. Tears stained her mother’s vest. The scent of oils and stone, of bread, of safety enveloped her, and for a moment, everything dark in her world vanished.

  “It’s all right.” Mirela raised Nadya’s chin with delicate fingers. “Look at me. This will be all right.”

  Nadya sniffed and wiped her nose. She huddled against her mother, who now seemed like the strongest person she’d ever met. “You aren’t angry?”

  “My daughter is in love. How can I be mad?”

  “But it’s Kesali. It’s a woman, and it’s the woman who is betrothed to the Duke’s son. It can’t…”

  Her mother took her hand. “You’re right. Too much rides on their betrothal. Kesali has made her choice, and it could save the city from itself. To be in love is to bear heartache, something you already know. Not even the Protectress can shield us against it.”

  Nadya nodded, but hearing the truth in her mother’s soft tones didn’t lessen the pain.

  “But to be in love is also the most beautiful thing this life holds for us, and it is beautiful no matter what form it comes in.” Mirela kissed the top of her head.

  In that instant, Nadya almost told her mother her secret. She opened her mouth, and Mirela’s soft expression urged her to divulge everything. The first time she realized she was different. The first time she realized her abilities were destructive. The lies about being able to sense the truth. The truth behind the Iron Phoenix. There, curled up next to her mother on the bed, she had never desired anything so badly. She would have given twelve years of her life to be able to make the words come out.

  They didn’t. The flashes of Shay’s parents, their denial of ever having a daughter—the denial of the entire Nomori community of her existence—stopped Nadya’s tongue.

  Mirela did not see the war within her. “Kesali will be safe. You, Lord Marko, and your father will see to it. The Protectress will watch over you all, and the pain will go away until only the good memories remain.”

  I hope you’re right, Mama, Nadya thought as she sat there, listening to the shaky rise and fall of her mother’s chest. She did not believe it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mirela persuaded her to go visit Kesali, to make things right between them. The next day, Nadya reluctantly made the trip up to the palace. After stating her business and being checked for weapons in front of the enormous iron gate, she was allowed in.

  What was she even going to say? She was still angry, and the more she thought about it, the more she doubted Kesali needed any consolation. In fact, her friend probably brushed the danger aside, chalking it up to doing her duty as both Stormspeaker and soon-to-be royal. So Nadya made it her mission to convince Kesali to be careful.

  Servants and courtiers alike rushed through the marble halls, though not as many as usual. The rising tensions between Erevans and Nomori, between the Duke and the zealot’s followers, meant that those without rooms at the palace were boarded up in their homes with their plentiful supplies of food waiting out the floodwaters.

  She managed to find her way to Kesali’s quarters, but she was not there. Nadya frowned. She knew the palace about as well as she knew the lands beyond the Kyanite Sea. That is to say, not at all. Wintercress to the west, Shikra to the east, and the South Marches were little more than names to her, just as the palace was nothing but a nice view atop Storm’s Quarry. She had been there only once for a ceremony when her father was promoted to captain.

  The men and women who streamed through the halls ignored Nadya’s questions, so she resigned herself to try the main reception room. Perhaps she would run into Lord Marko, and he could point her in the direction of his
betrothed. The main hall was quite a walk from the back corridor, and when she arrived, it was unguarded.

  The great metal door, painted with the Duke’s insignia of a blazing sun expelling the floodwaters, stood in the empty hall of the palace. Nadya’s frown deepened. Without guardsmen in front, it was unlikely Lord Marko was within, but it was her best guess. Tomorrow was the Duke’s open session. Shouldn’t this be guarded, at least?

  She realized her thoughts had been foolish when she tried the metal ring handle. The door did not budge. It was locked tight, and not even a battering ram could get through. Even if she could break it, anyone inside would be hard-pressed not to notice the enormous lock breaking. She gritted her teeth, raised her hand, and knocked twice on the enormous door.

  This is a very bad idea, she told herself. What am I going to do if the Duke is in there?

  The two thuds echoed throughout the hall. Nadya ducked her face when a few servants stopped in their duties, staring curiously at the Nomori girl who was knocking at the throne room.

  For Kesali. To warn her to be careful.

  Against her thoughts, Nadya was about to back away and find another path in when the doors slowly slid open. Her breath caught in her throat as the throne room was laid out before her. No one stood in the entrance. She started walking forward. If no one was here who could direct her toward Kesali or the Duke’s son, she’d try one of the servants’ doors behind the throne.

  “Aren’t you a little far from home?” a familiar voice remarked, and the throne room became cold.

  Huge marble columns lined real carpet that led up to a simple metal chair set on the ground, at the same level as those who would come to see the Duke with their grievances. Lamps in glistening brackets hung on the walls every five paces, separating fine paintings and tapestries. Large ornate vases stood under the lamps. Beneath the entire splendor, though, was the scent of chemicals and sweat and effort spent on keeping this facade up. It burned her nose as nerves raced up and down her back, making the tips of her fingers tremble.