by Lisa Morgan
I moved to Seatha, almost knocking her down as I threw my arms around her. I struggled, sorrow suppressing my words as I managed to speak them, “Thank you for being my friend.”
When I finally pulled away and let go, her eyes shone, and I knew she was fighting tears.
“I must make my rounds,” Seatha told me, holding my shoulders in her palms and trying to smile. “You’ll be safe. Be smart, and if at all possible, feel free to toast any bony bastards you happen upon, okay?” I smiled at the fairy and nodded my head.
“I’ll do my best,” I offered as I watched her nod in return before she walked out of the tent, leaving me with only my thoughts, alone.
***
Sleep wouldn’t find me. I lay on the cot, listening to the sounds outside. There’d been a tempered revelry throughout the night, but I hadn’t been in any mood to join in with the soldiers.
Michel had come to my tent, checking to see that I was really okay following Ossa’s pseudo visit to Celine, and to apologize for not coming sooner. I’d smiled up to him, but even that hadn’t been enough to prevent a few tears from escaping me.
He stayed with me for what felt like hours, lying beside me on the narrow bed with his arms wrapped around me, neither of us speaking. Every once in a while I’d feel his arm tighten and his thumb stroke my arm, trying to comfort to me.
Time passed and I’d dozed off, finally feeling at ease enough to let sleep arrive. It had been dreamless and far too short.
I woke when a guard had softly announced his presence before he’d entered my tent, looking for Michel. The king needed to advise the prince on planned troop positions, he’d informed me once the guard left, and he promised to return when the discussions were done.
I didn’t want him to leave. I’d found peace while he was next to me. A sort of comfort and calm had blanketed me and shielded my nerves for the time we were together. Desperate to have just another second of that, I reached out and grabbed Michel’s hand.
The vampire turned back to me and fell to his knees beside me. He didn’t kiss me, didn’t speak a sound. He cupped my face lightly in his hands, and I watched him as he seemed to be memorizing my face by the light of dying oil lamps.
Several of my heartbeats passed like that, without me daring to breathe or to move, just staring at Michel and committing that very moment to my own memory.
He’d finally stood when the guard had returned to summon him once again. Reluctantly, I watched Michel rise to his feet, buttoning his shirt as he left my tent without saying a word.
Time passed without me finding peace or sleep again. I thought maybe fresh air would help clear my mind. Opening one of the trunks and then another, I was able to locate a sweatshirt to keep myself warm in the chilly night air.
I left my tent, informing the guard Michel had posted to keep watch while I’d rested that I was going to stretch my legs. It was terminology the guard was apparently unfamiliar with. After spending a few minutes trying to explain what it meant, I opted to lie and tell him I had to use the bathroom. The guard bowed his head, embarrassed, and waved his hand while he vowed to remain at his post.
Most of the camp was dark now, the pre-war party apparently having ended. As I walked toward a hill, the hint of wood smoke from the surrounding campfires still lingered though the fires were rendered embers now.
Even the camp couldn’t keep flames going.
Climbing the steep hill, I found a tall oak growing solitarily from its zenith. I leaned against it and turned to look the direction I’d walked. From this vantage, I could look out over the whole of the camp.
How many of these beings will die in a matter of hours? How many children will be left without parents or guardians because of the coming battle?
I sank to the ground, listening to the banners snapping in the breeze. The sky was clouding over and the moon that had glowed so brightly in the king’s garden was now hidden behind their thickening grey veil.
Maggie, a whisper called to me. I recognized the female’s voice as the same one from the garden that had urged me to get control before I’d hurt Michel further.
“Hello?” I answered softly, looking around for the source.
When you need the power, it will not fail you.
“I need it now,” I spoke to the sound, still unable to find the woman who spoke.
Not yet, she mused.
“But,” I begged, “tomorrow, today actually, I’m walking out onto a battle field, and I know nothing. I’m useless.”
Not useless, the voice assured me. Yours is the greatest Phoenix to ever be.
“If it’s so great, why can’t I control it?” I shot back, having no qualms about arguing with a disembodied voice. My words were only met with silence.
I muttered as I laid my head against the tree, “Figures. I get a whispering voice in my head that’s as helpful as my grandfather.”
Open your hand, the voice urged, startling me.
I freed the handful of grass I’d been absently pulling next to me, allowing the blades to slip away as I turned it over and opened it curiously. A tiny blue flame danced inside my palm. It traced over one of the wrinkles Michel had pointed out to me in The Trust’s library. The life line.
When you need it, it will be there for you, the voice instructed me softly.
I sat silently, watching the fire in my hand. Tempted, I blew at it. The flame wiggled against my breath, leaning away from the force, but not dying out. It was mesmerizing.
“When I need it,” I whispered, closing my hand into a fist, extinguishing it without a burn to my skin. Standing up with a new sense of purpose welling, I brushed off my backside just as the first drops of rain began to fall.
I paced down the hill and back to my tent, offering my sentry an apology for my delay, to which he only nodded. The rain was falling harder now and I pitied the poor guard who was standing outside with no place to hide from the deluge. I peeled off my sweatshirt and hung it over one of the trunks, and then climbed into the sleeping bag, leaving one of the oil lamps burning in case Michel returned.
The last thought before my eyes finally drifted shut was of a woman standing tall with waist length blonde hair in curls. I saw that the wind was blowing gently, raising her hair to ride on the breeze. Though I couldn’t identify her blurry features, I felt that she was smiling when she spoke to me.
When you need it, it will be there for you.
Thirty
I woke to the sounds of others beginning their day in the encampment. I lay in my sleeping bag; the crisp morning air that should have felt refreshing instead left me unnerved because I knew … this was tomorrow. This was the day I would step onto a battlefield as others looked on with baited breath, praying for a miracle.
I dressed in the garments Seatha had left out for me, all except the armor. She’d said she’d help me with it before the army marched.
Before the army marched.
I’m a sixteen-year-old girl. I should’ve been concerning myself with fashion and finding a prom date rather than trying to remember how to parry a sword thrust or going over battle plans in my mind. I wished this was all a dream. Hell, I’d even settle for a nightmare, but when I swung the tent flap open, reality stood just a few feet from me.
Luc and Michel were side by side, wearing identical black outfits with The Realm sigil emblazoned on their chests. They were studiously looking at a worn piece of parchment; a crudely drawn map of the battlefield we were to take our stand on, labeling the high and low points, best defensive positions.
I glanced to the coven’s tent erected next to mine. I watched the witches standing in small, tight grouped circles over open fires. Occasionally, one would utter some words and drop undisclosed dried herbs into the flames, the other witches echoing the rhyming words in unison.
Autumn stood with them; her arms out, palms up, repeating the words when spoken. She opened her eyes and glanced at me. It seemed as if she wanted to offer a smile, maybe a little encouragement, but thou
ght better of it. Instead, my friend closed her eyes and continued on with the ritual.
The princes hadn’t noticed me yet as they debated the parchment, so I chose to take a few minutes and walk back to the oak tree I’d visited in the predawn hours.
I marched, taking in the camp around me as I passed by. The smell of breakfasts wafted around from campfires. I should try to eat, but my stomach recoiled at the thought of food.
The path had become muddy following the storm that drenched last night, and I found my footing with great difficulty, each step up the hill becoming harder than the last. Finally, I made it to the top overlooking the field. It’d been so beautiful last night when I’d sat there in the stillness, and the view this morning under a cloudless blue sky was equally as gorgeous if you neglected the occasional grinding of metal or whinnies of horses.
My heart clenched into a fist, and I felt like I couldn’t stand on my own. My breathing ragged, I fell against the rough bark of the tree. It scratched at my arms, but I remained thoughtless to the damage. I let the tree help me slide down to sit beneath its branches.
The camp was a puzzle of tents and makeshift stables for animals. Small streams of smoke drifted skyward, snaking higher in the sky until they caught a breeze and dissipated. The sounds of revelry in the valley last night were stilled now, reassuring me this was no dream I was in. No matter what my conscious thoughts hoped for, the truth remained. I was going to war.
I thought back to my father, the words he’d told me that night at the hospital. For a moment, I felt I should hate him for thrusting me into this, but it was washed away by my selfishness and guilt.
This was about so much more than just me. A whole world other than the one I’d known existed just days ago, thought I was the answer. They believed I was the one who would sway the tides and gain them the advantage over creatures determined to destroy them and their way of life.
I thought of my mother and wondered where she was. I prayed for answers, but now hours before I might die, I was left with the same questions I’d hoped to have resolved.
I thought about my friends, and my heart ached for them. Autumn, in spite of her flighty personality, had been all business as she stood with her fellow witches. I wondered if she felt the least bit of nervousness at entering this fight. Seatha had been roaring with other fae clans about the number of revenants she was going to slaughter, but in her eyes, I’d caught a glimpse of her apprehension.
Luc had been as stone cold as I’d ever seen him. He’d smirked when one of his soldiers had cracked a joke, but it was obvious that his heart hadn’t been in the gesture. I knew from his demeanor as he’d stalked around the camp all evening that he’d be fierce at the front lines. He had a score to settle with the revenants that could drive him to his own demise, and I found myself hoping instead that would be the motivation he needed to stay alive.
He’d caught my eye only once; a quick glance and an uneasy smile as he gripped his chest briefly before bowing his head, disappearing inside a near tent.
And Michel…
I’d only just found Michel, his eyes with those specks of silver that shone brightly and a smile that made even the fangs in his mouth seem gentle. It felt like eons had passed since I’d been drawn to his guitar playing at the mall. That melody still rang in my mind, haunting me and comforting me at the same time. Closing my eyes, I hummed what I could remember of the song.
I felt arms slide around my shoulders as Michel sank to sit behind me. Carefully, he pulled me against him, his hold tightening as he wrapped me in his arms. I tipped my head back, resting it to his chest. One of his hands slid over my own. I took a ragged breath, fear running in my veins and sending cool waves with every beat of my heart.
Michel didn’t speak. He just held me, his thumb making slow circles over my hand. It helped, but not enough to prevent my vision from blurring and a tear’s escape.
“Shhh,” he comforted. “I’m here.”
I didn’t try to ebb the slow trickle. He continued to hold me, his lips kissing the top of my head.
“I don’t know if I can actually do this, Michel,” I confessed. “I’m just one girl.”
“No, you’re not,” he answered, turning my head by the chin so he could look me in the eyes. The prince bent his head and put his lips close to mine. “You’re my girl.”
The kiss was full of passion and desire, full of potential good-byes that I was refusing to acknowledge. I needed to feel Michel’s lips on mine and to make this memory one that would drive me to keep fighting even when I was too tired to swing any longer.
Michel drew away, his eyes searching my face and his once again damaged lips healing from our latest kiss.
“What are you looking for?” I asked him as he searched my face.
He answered me softly as his thumb stroked my cheek, “Finally, Maggie, I’m not searching for anything. For the first time in my life, I’ve already found exactly what I need.”
A sharp pang in my chest warned me only seconds before the tear fell. Michel moved around to face me, putting both his hands on my neck, but making no attempt to wipe the tear away. He watched it trail down to my chin.
“My sweet, Maggie,” Michel spoke thoughtfully, tucking a stray strand of my hair behind an ear, “so much has been asked of you. So much hurt and heartache. Your life has been changed in such a short span of time, and it isn’t fair. I’ve only just found you. If I could change the hands of time and steal you away to a place where it were only you and I, I pray that you know I’d turn from all those I care for to do so.”
Michel stood, pulling me with him and wrapping his arms around my waist to draw me to him. His jade eyes looked into mine. “If I could take this from you, I would.”
From somewhere in the camp, a horn blew. One long, deep signal, rallying the camp to prepare for battle. My legs went out from under me, and despite his efforts to prevent me, I fell to my knees.
“I’m too weak, Michel,” I stammered into my hands, shaking my head back and forth. “I can’t do this.”
“No,” he coaxed softly, kneeling before me. He took my hands in his and drew them from my face, his eyes meeting mine. For all of the bravery I’d seen in them, I could also see his fear. “If you feel weak, lean on to me. I’ll carry courage enough for the both of us.”
“What if you get hurt?” I couldn’t hold his gaze and dropped my eyes back to the muddy ground between us.
“I’ll always be here for you, Maggie. I’ve always been right here.” Michel took hold of my chin, raising my eyes.
“From the first moment I heard your thoughts in my head, from the very first time I touched your hand and laid my eyes on you, I have been lost to you.”
I exhaled. My heart beat like a drum and heat raced up my spine to flush my face. I watched from under my lashes as his lips closed the distance to mine, slowly, like he was waiting for me to object to his advance. He slid his hand to caress my cheek and another strand of hair fell loose from my ponytail.
Michel paused and tucked the wayward lock behind my ear. He smiled, amused at the act.
“We aren’t alone,” Michel whispered, his words brushing across my lips. I raised my eyes, looking over his shoulder to see what intruded on the moment.
Standing, with his arms crossed over his chest, was Luc. The expression he wore was so completely juxtaposed to what I’d expect to find crossing his face.
He looked … defeated, and possibly in pain, yet the battle hadn’t even begun. Luc studied us, like each subtle movement we made gave away some telling secret he was desperate to learn as he attempted to hide whatever were torturing him.
“Luc,” I spoke quietly.
Michel slid his hand around my waist as he turned to face his brother. “Is everything okay, brother?”
Luc answered softly, his eyes finally falling to the earth at his feet as he sounded like he were struggling with the words, “The king has sounded the horn. We march to battle.” He turned and began to stalk away
, calling over his shoulder, “Seatha is waiting in your tent to help you arm yourself.”
I watched Luc stride from us, his head lowered, and felt a sense of loss at his departure.
“You worry for him,” Michel stated, gesturing his head toward his brother. “As do I. I’ll keep my eyes on both of you today.”
I looked to Michel, and then searched for Luc, but he was already out of sight. I remarked, feeling pity for his brother, “He seemed different, like something was hurting him.”
Michel agreed, concern for Luc marking his voice. “Luc waits for a sunrise to warm him that I fear will never crest the mountain.”
I looked at Michel’s face for explanation, but found none as he stared after his brother. The horn sounded again, bringing my thoughts back to what lay ahead of me that day. A weight crept over me as I looked to the camp.
“It’s time, my Phoenix,” Michel informed me solemnly, putting his hand on my back and kissing my forehead softly.
“It’s time,” I repeated with much less composure than Michel.
Thirty One
I entered my tent alone. Michel had gone in search of Luc and promised to keep an eye out for me when the fighting began. I hadn’t wanted to let go of his hand and only did after Michel kissed me feverishly, much to the camp’s amusement. It’d taken a great deal of strength to not burst into flames as the onlookers had roared their approval. I noticed when we drew apart that I’d still managed to scald his lips and the spot on his neck where I’d held him appeared to have handprint-shaped sunburns.
Seatha stood near my bed, looking like one of the drawings from the History of The Realm book. I realized how stunningly accurate the illustrators had been with their depictions. The fairy’s armor was polished gold with the silver crescent moon sigil of The Realm on her breastplate, a smaller image of her clan’s sigil on her right shoulder. Her hair was tied on top of her head in a ponytail that hung loose through her helmet, and her arms were covered in metal plates. A chainmail mini skirt was the only thing protecting her legs. Her wings were fully extended behind her and a sword hung from her waist.