The Iron Phoenix

by Rebecca Harwell

  “Time for what?”

  “Lord Marko is headed to the edge of the Nomori tier and the wall. He has a contingent of guardsmen with him, intent on finding the zealot and taking him into custody. Reports of sightings of the Iron Phoenix also helped to draw him there.”

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  Levka continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Of course, he’s not the only one there. His betrothed went. She was supposed to stay with the Duke, but that Nomori girl is smarter than her predictions make her look. Not to mention more stubborn than a horse in the rain. With a few carefully dropped hints by yours truly, she realized one of the nivasi was at the center of all the murders. He also happens to be at the wall. She’s on her way there now.”

  Nadya flung herself at him, forcing him back up against the marble violently. Levka cried out. His ribs snapped under her grip as she laid one arm flat against his chest, pinning him to the pillar.

  “Where are they?” Her voice was low and deadly, and left nothing to the imagination as to what she would do if he refused to cooperate.

  “At the north gate. You can hardly miss it. The zealot has gathered all his followers, numbering in the tens of thousands.” He spat blood. “They invaded the Nomori tier, demanding the head of the Stormspeaker. Someone tipped them off that she was no longer in the palace. They mean to lure her there with the blood of her kinsmen. She’s too brave to stay away.”

  “Braver than you’ll ever know,” Nadya hissed. “Why tell me this? What’s your plan?”

  He smiled again, that horrible smirk that said he knew something she did not. “Because, Phoenix, you are not going to leave this room.”

  She whirled around, dropping him onto the carpet. He coughed again, and the scent of his blood wafted up to her nose.

  Nadya paid no attention. While all her focus had been on the magistrate and his words, the throne room had slowly filled with red-uniformed guardsmen. They stood, six to a row and two deep, in front of the metal door. Rapiers drawn, eyes hard, staring at the one who had murdered so many of their comrades. She frowned. Twelve guardsmen was hardly an army, probably all that could be spared from the city and the Duke. Where did Levka’s confidence come from?

  Shadar drew his rapier and said, “Phoenix, you are under arrest. Resist, and we will kill you.”

  The answer to her question hit her straight in the heart. She couldn’t move. Kesali was headed into a trap, toward a malicious nivasi who was nothing more than a mad dog bent on hurting as many as possible. She needed to get out of here, to run to save Kesali before she was killed by Gedeon or the zealot’s mob. The life of the woman she loved was at stake.

  She started forward, ready to knock them all out and burst through the door. Her father would never have to know the truth about her.

  Nadya swung at the first man, breaking his sword in two as her fist smashed into his shoulder. Bones cracked. She stumbled back in horror, and the rapiers advanced. She still had no control over her strength, and she didn’t wish to kill these men. Nadya dodged blades, weaving in and out of the guardsmen. She broke every sword she could get her hands on, using the momentum to toss the men out of her range. She did not trust herself to actually hit them. The last thing she wanted was more blood on her hands.

  Shadar faced her. Nadya gulped. They were alone. The rest of the men lay unconscious in a widespread circle around them, their weapons broken. Only her father’s blade was whole, and it was pointed straight at her heart.

  “You fight me, Phoenix.”

  I don’t want to fight you, Papa, she shrieked inside, a low whimper escaping her lips. But Kesali needed her.

  He swung at her head, moving so fast that Nadya barely ducked out of the way. His blade clipped her hood as it sailed over her. She dropped to the side before he could come back with a stroke at her heart. But Shadar was a step ahead of her, and as she rose to her feet, he was there, his sword thirsting for her blood.

  The blade snaked out. Nadya jumped backward. The rapier came to rest a handbreadth from her chest. Shadar drew it back. He wasn’t breathing heavily. He was, after all, the finest swordsman in the city, and in that moment, Nadya didn’t think she could get around him without killing him.

  And like any Nomori, he would fight to the death.

  Shadar lunged forward. She dodged and grabbed the tip of his blade, breaking it off and dropping it. He frowned slightly. Was he wondering what had happened to the bloodstained murderer who had been present in the fourth tier yesterday?

  She leapt toward him and wrenched the other half of the rapier from his hands. Her father staggered back but caught himself. “I can fight you without a weapon, Phoenix.”

  He dodged to the left, using his momentum to jump into the air. His leg shot out as he spun, coming down to crack into Nadya’s jaw. She stepped back. Her skull buzzed with pain, but her father’s wide-eyed stare indicated that the strike had been meant to take her down.

  Sweat dripped down the back of her neck under her hood. She did not know how much time she had before Gedeon or the zealot’s army got their hands on Kesali. She couldn’t afford to waste any more.

  A fist came at her from nowhere. Instinctively, she dodged and grabbed the arm. A moment before she snapped the bone, Nadya caught herself. She let go and backed up.

  “Are you afraid to kill me?” Shadar spat. He held up his hands in perfectly balanced fists. “I gave you the benefit of the doubt, once, to my great shame. No more. The Duke is being transported to safety as we fight. You’ll never find him.”

  He was willing to give his life to buy time for the Duke to get away.

  Nadya dropped her arms. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Levka laughing, and she knew what this was about. He knew she could not win against Gedeon. Yesterday proved that. The only reason he told her everything was so she would go after Kesali and Marko, so that she would have to face her father.

  So she would have to choose between keeping her secret and saving Kesali.

  This wasn’t part of a great plot to destroy the Nomori. No, this was solely to hurt Nadya as she had hurt him two years ago. Her stomach clenched. Was there another way? She scrambled for an answer, for anything but the choice the magistrate forced upon her. But it was simple. Kesali’s life was more important than her secret. It was more important than anything right now. Kesali and Marko were the only ones who could bring the city back together. As she faced her father, her thoughts grew fuzzy. She was tired. Tired of secrets and sneaking around and lying to those she loved. Now Kesali needed not the Nomori psychic she pretended to be, but the nivasi she was. The Iron Phoenix.

  “Fight me!” her father yelled, and she tore off her disguise.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Storm’s Quarry burned.

  From atop the great wall that encircled the city and its chaos, Gedeon watched with a satisfied smile. The smoke stung his eyes, but he didn’t shut them. Ash rose from the fires that consumed the bottom two tiers of city. Stone buildings glowed red as the flames devoured their innards. Screams echoed off the bloodstained streets as looters and rioters seized what they wanted.

  On a building on the outskirts of the Nomori tier, not far from where Gedeon stood on the wall, the zealot yelled encouragement to his soldiers of chaos. “Take back the city. Find the Nomori witch, and bring me her head. They were warned. Now, with the powers of the storm gods, they will be punished!”

  A charming man, Gedeon thought with a smirk. If the city had been harder to take, he might have utilized the zealot. As it was, however, Storm’s Quarry did not need his aid to fall.

  “Sir!”

  Gedeon turned at the voice. A guardsman, his eyes full black, saluted him. Nine others fanned out behind him, securing this part of the wall. Normally, Gedeon struggled holding so many under his control, but he found guardsmen to be particularly…malleable.

  Two came forward, holding a squirming Nomori woman between them. She spat at Gedeon.

  He wiped the spittle
away, studying her. Her eyes, however, were on the destruction below. They filled with tears. Good—he would be able to use that. Gedeon had never seen Kesali, Stormspeaker of the Nomori and betrothed to Marko Isyanov, as more than an exotic ornament at the Duke’s son’s side. Her trousers and vest, once immaculate purple silk, were stained by dirt and ash. Cuts marred her pretty face, and the expression she wore was anything but nice. Hurt and anger twisted her features in a battle mask.

  She was the seal on Storm’s Quarry’s fate. He had ordered her brought to him so he might take control of her, and give Storm’s Quarry a show it would not soon forget. Gedeon’s mouth twitched. Not even Durriken the Butcher could boast of such an act.

  “How? How can you do this?” She turned to stare up at Gedeon.

  “Because no one is able to stop me.”

  Gedeon reached for the power and sent it crackling out and into Kesali’s eyes. He searched for the source of her tears, for the guilt that was sure to be plaguing her over the city’s fate, for something to provide a gateway into her mind.

  The power snapped back. He stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the wall.

  “Will you kill me? Or are you too cowardly to do it yourself? Will you send me down there to be slaughtered by the mob?” Kesali demanded.

  Gedeon barely heard. He swore. She had to be one of the few who would not provide a passage into her mind. His power needed a weakness of the mind in order to take root and give him control. Those he normally preyed on had that in spades—uncontrollable anger, guilt, fear. It never mattered how virtuous they were. Strength of mind was not a product of good or evil. But this woman was different. Her mind was a tight drum that his power bounced off.

  Nothing, however, was without weakness when pressed.

  Straightening, he walked up to her and grabbed her shoulder, digging his fingernails into her flesh. His eyes were level with hers as he whispered, “I will find a way in. And then you will bring about the end of Storm’s Quarry.”

  *

  The cloak drifted to the ground, coming to rest a few paces from Nadya. Cool, damp air caressed her cheeks as she locked eyes with her father.

  Shadar’s eyes widened, and the corners of his lips trembled. He had not dropped his fighting stance. “Nadya?” It came out as a croak.

  “Papa, let me explain.”

  “It was you all this time? You were the one yesterday, in the public square?” If there had been anger in his voice, it would have hurt less. The disbelief, the pain in his eyes as he stared down at her made Nadya want to disappear.

  “I don’t have much time. Kesali is in danger. So is Marko.” She stepped toward him, and he backed up into the door. “Papa, it was one of the nivasi, a man named Gedeon. He was behind all the murders. He can take control of a person’s body.”

  “So it was you.” He looked away from her.

  “I went to stop him yesterday.” Her ears burned as she tried to make him understand. “I shouldn’t have. I thought I could, but he took control of my body and made me—” She couldn’t get the words out. “Papa, you must trust me. I know I have lied to you. I am…nivasi. I’m not a normal Nomori. The things I can do—but I never meant to kill anyone. I just wanted to save you from the burning building, and it all started there with the Phoenix.” Tears flowed freely down her cheeks.

  Shadar said nothing, but he looked at her with a scrutinizing gaze she could not read.

  Desperation tore at her voice. “Papa, Levka the magistrate sent Marko to the wall, and Kesali, too. He supplied weapons to the zealot. The nivasi is there. If I don’t get there, they will die. All of our people. You know what’s happening out there. I think I can stop it.”

  Her father drew a slow breath and said, “Go.” He stepped aside.

  “Thank you. Papa…” She reached for him.

  “Go!” And there was the anger.

  With numb fingers, Nadya gathered up and donned the cloak. She opened the door and risked one last look at her father. He was touching the seal of the Protectress on his belt, shaking. She didn’t know whether it was in fury or grief, or both.

  “I love you,” Nadya whispered, and left, sprinting down the palace hall.

  Storm’s Quarry was in flames when she left the safe marble confines of the palace, jumping over the troop of guardsmen protecting its doors, and headed down to the lowest tier. The hastily tied blanket around her face kept out the worst of the smoke, but still her eyes stung. She blamed her tears on the smoke and the wind that ripped by her as she sprinted and leapt from building down to building.

  In the fourth and third tiers, where most people had barricaded their doors and windows, the light of lamps peeked out through the bolts. The streets were deserted. Not even the rats dared to go outside on the solstice.

  The inferno began in the second tier.

  Nadya skidded to a halt, spraying shingles. Fire roared up in front of her. It exploded out the shop’s front, and several men ran away, their arms laden. She couldn’t tell if they were Erevan or Nomori. At this point, it didn’t matter. She ran around and jumped to the next store. Only a slight wisp of smoke curled out of its windows. She hoped no one was inside.

  Nadya leapt across the narrow street. She came to the edge of the tier, looking down on the Nomori tier and the wall.

  The noise alone overwhelmed her. Shouts mingled with explosions and screams and bloodcurdling cries. She clamped her hands over her ears as she surveyed the smoky remains of the place that was once her home. It took her a moment to realize that she was looking directly down on the Nomori square.

  Its stone benches were smashed, the ashes in the fire pit scattered. Nomori men, women, and children ran screaming across the square, pursued by a ragtag group of Erevans. Nadya squinted through the smoke and realized that they carried muskets and pistols, new by the gleam of the flames off their barrels. Levka’s gift to them, no doubt.

  Men ran in and out of burning buildings. Some rescued the poor souls trapped inside. Some plundered what was left before letting the roofs collapse on the inhabitants. Fires roared along the tier, lighting up the cloudy day in a ring of flames. Smoke filled the streets, smoke and screams of helplessness and the mob.

  Nadya judged there to be at least five thousand rioters, smashing storefronts and gutting any Nomori unfortunate enough to cross their path. The worn cobblestones were stained in blood—the only scent underneath the acrid smoke—and for a moment, Nadya swayed. She was back in her invisible bonds watching her hands paint the square red. She fell to her knees and clamped a hand over her nose, struggling not to vomit. Death was everywhere. Women lay strewn next to their children, ripped naked and bruised. The bullet-ridden corpses of the men who had tried to protect them lay near them in heaps. So did the bodies of some rioters, the price of confronting a Nomori fighter.

  The mob had numbers, however, and superior weaponry provided by the magistrate. She swallowed. This had to be stopped, and she did not know if one person could do it.

  Marching boot steps echoed under the sharp blasts of muskets and the screams of the dying. Red uniforms emerged from the smoke, led by—Nadya’s stomach twisted—Lord Marko, who carried a rapier. Its tip shone red. Rioters scattered before the discipline of the Duke’s Guard, but there were only several hundred guardsmen and thousands of rioters.

  A yell broke through everything. “Do not let them intimidate you. We have the power of the storm gods on our side. Take up your weapons, brothers, and fight for your city!”

  It was the zealot. Nadya took a moment to locate him, as the rioters slowly backtracked out of the nooks and crannies they’d been running to. More men joined them, until the angry citizens stretched down the street and disappeared around the curve of the tier.

  There he was, standing atop a building not far from her. A ring of men holding pistols protected their sacred leader. The zealot had not changed his attire. Ash stained his already filthy tunic, but it did not stop his cries of encouragement to the rioters—cries, Nadya re
alized with a sinking feeling, that were feeding their frenzy and gathering more men to them by the second.

  The Duke’s Guard now looked hopelessly outnumbered. Nadya saw Marko’s pale face through the smoke. He shouted some orders to his men, pointing his blade at the zealot.

  Nadya stood. There was a root cause to all this madness, and she needed to find it. Gedeon would be here, and so would Kesali. She swept her gaze over the scene.

  Marko shouted a rallying cry, and the crimson tide rushed into the rioters, pushing them back with deadly accurate bullets. While the gunmen reloaded, the swordsmen—the Nomori fighting for their homes, their families, and their very lives—moved in and cut down more of the mob.

  But some guardsmen remained with Marko. His rapier was now pointed at her. He had seen the Iron Phoenix, and he was leaving the zealot alone in order to deal with what he judged to be the greater threat.

  She leapt down from the building. She could not afford to remain a standing target.

  “Get the Phoenix!” Marko shouted.

  Nadya dodged the first volley of bullets and ducked underneath an overturned wagon, the hay inside starting to crackle with fire. She forced down the pain of all her old injuries, remembering how her automaton-self was able to call up the depths of her powers to a point where her shoulder hadn’t even bothered her. Nadya breathed slowly, and the pain receded.

  That’s when she heard it.

  “Look down there! Look, and see the sea’s height. You predicted it would retreat by now. You are the reason for all this death, all this chaos. You are at fault. Have you no shame?” Gedeon’s voice was loud, with a frantic undercurrent Nadya had not heard from him before.

  She staggered up from the wagon. The voice had come from above. There, on the top of the wall, stood a cluster of figures. Nadya dodged a few rapier strikes, her gaze fixed on the group. Most wore crimson uniforms—guardsmen Gedeon had under his control. One was dressed in black, pointing out to the sea. And next to Gedeon was a tall young woman wearing a smoke-stained vest and trousers.