Chapter 1 #2
The satisfying memory of revenge doesn’t stop the gut-wrenching recollection of my phoenixes’ rebirths from surging up too.
Of watching sparks circle sparks for agonizing days until the glowing magic finally solidified into tiny little birds right here in Drayke Mountain, where Bale first created them.
Just like the phoenixes are growing more slowly now, it took longer for Sol’s rebirth last time.
I stood vigil for five more torturous days than usual, terrified that Ellonrift’s fading magic would take her from me, from Rim, from Fyrestar.
Blinking, I clear my throat. “We defend each other,” I say hoarsely. “Forever and always.”
“Forever and always.” All three of them instantly chirp our personal motto, but instead of making me feel better and calmer, it just makes me worry about where Cealastra is and if she’s ever coming back to restore magic in Ellonrift.
Torridaig’s battle horn suddenly blares from the peak of Drayke Mountain, cutting through my perpetual underlying dread with its hard, sharp blast.
Or maybe adding to it.
“Bloodpit,” I growl. “No training today.” It’ll be the real thing instead. I lift my shoulders, urging the babies off me. “Back to your roosts.”
“I can fight,” Rim says. “I’ll be your right wing.”
I almost wish he could. Everyone else on the team is a dragon shifter.
The only fire and flight I have working in my favor comes from my birds.
“Not yet, love. You haven’t passed your tests.
” Sol’s small talons leave my skin. Rim’s larger ones depart more reluctantly.
Even as fledglings, they recall everything about their past lives and form a bond with me immediately.
Strength, reflexes, inner fire, and the ability to communicate mind-to-mind in the language of Ellonrift are slower to return.
“Come back safe,” Rim says as I grab my boots and pull them on.
“Safe,” Sol echoes in her little voice.
Nodding, I grab a short, fur-lined vest from the foot of my bed, slip it on, and hook it closed. My weapons are already on me, and I don’t have time for more. My heart already pounding like the drums of war, I turn and race for the open window. “Fyrestar! Go!”
He launches off the sill in a whirlwind of heat, and I dive after him, blasting through the wall of searing air he left in my window frame.
Outside, direct sunlight slams into my skin and eyes, the shock of it always abrupt after being inside the cool, dim mountain.
Squinting, I spread my arms and legs, free-falling down the sheer mountainside until Fyrestar swoops underneath and picks me up.
Straightening, I wait for my vision to adjust as I brace my legs firmly around Fyrestar’s body and grip the tough black feathers ringing his neck.
Wind rushes through my loose hair, and I cringe at the oversight.
The headmistress at school would’ve had my hide for showing up in the training ring with my hair down, and Bale is sure to do the same.
I tap my pockets, hoping I might’ve forgotten a leather strap inside. No luck, and I can’t easily tie my hair back while flying anyway.
My stomach sinking, I press lower against Fyrestar’s feathers, cursing vanity for making me take down my daily tight bun to indulge in a moment of birthday frivolity in my bedroom.
It’s a rookie mistake, and now, it’s too late.
We have a mountain to climb, and if Kellan reaches the war room before I do, he’ll win right wing again.
Fyrestar ascends, the near-vertical angle forcing me to hold on tight and squeeze my legs. “Are you all right, Idallia? Too steep?” he asks when I slip back more than I should.
“No. Keep going. I want right wing.”
“You’re too competitive. It’s not the wing that counts.”
It’s always the wing. I’m the foundling.
The nobody. The youngest. I don’t know who I am.
What I am. I stopped visibly aging when I reached my prime, so Rita and Gerard eventually decided I wasn’t human after all and must be strong enough to train for war.
Even though I don’t have fire or flight, they dumped me at the school pumping out soldiers for Torridaig and paid the headmistress enough to keep me there—the only student who wasn’t a dragon shifter in the whole starsdamned place.
They left with a vague goodbye before hurrying back to Glarraden where they could continue to only pay attention to each other without me around to try to gain even a scrap of their time.
My memory is too sharp for comfort, and that rush of excitement I’d felt about starting at the Drayke School of Fire and Flight hits me before souring just like my school years did.
I thought maybe I’d finally make some friends.
But then a student I recognized from around Glarraden lifted his hand on my first day, pointed straight at me, and said, “Why is she here? She’s the gildenfae-gold kid. ”
I press my mouth shut against a snarl, and Fyrestar flies so fast that the high mountain air helps hammer the echoes of my time as a student off me, leaving only the need to prove myself and win.
“We’re almost there, Fyrestar. Go!” Entrances to the war room open near the pinnacle of Drayke Mountain, not far below Bale’s lair. We aim for the nearest window. Excelling at combat against everyone’s expectations is the only reason I’m anything, and I want right wing.
We blast through a high entrance, and my warbird moves like a firebolt straight for the six pillars of the Elite Wing.
Kellan flies in through another window at nearly the same time.
His primary wing guard follows, sleek, fast, and glowing, his long tail feathers trailing fire.
Grambolt is as mature and experienced as Fyrestar.
My pulse racing, I urge Fyrestar faster. Kellan’s scales shimmer even in the low light of the gigantic room, the arresting mix of darkness and iridescence a distracting flash in my periphery as we both dive for the same flat-topped column rising from the stone floor next to the map of Ellonrift.
Kellan’s ice-blue eyes narrow. “Not today.” The words resonate inside my head in the same deep voice that used to suggest things like leaving the Elite Wing, settling down together, mating.
I don’t answer and vault off Fyrestar, already sprinting for the coveted first spot at the right-hand side of the map.
With only a few steps to go, I take a running leap and land on top of the wide pillar.
Kellan hits it at the same time, instantly transforming into his fully clothed common form to get both booted feet on the surface.
Skidding wildly, I thump into the rock-solid, four-hundred-year-old dragon shifter and bounce right off him. My stomach plummets.
Kellan reaches out to steady me, but it’s too late.
I’m already falling, and the failure is nauseating.
I hit the ground on my side, a pained breath wheezing out of me.
Fyrestar’s worried caw rattles in my head.
My hip numb, I scramble up, vault over the map, and lunge for the left-wing column, but Maia just took the front pillar because she didn’t even try for right wing.
I jump onto the column behind her before anyone else can take the second row.
Right wing is more prestigious, but I don’t want to be responsible for watching Kellan’s back. I’m too incensed right now.
Seething, I scowl across the giant, raised map of Ellonrift, wishing I could breathe fire. Kellan winks at me, his smirk as big as he is.
“That was mine,” I grind out.
“Same time, but I kept my balance,” he says as the rest of the team fills in the remaining pillars, their primary warbirds already circling the cavernous room along with mine.
The phoenixes brighten the yawning darkness above our heads, their luminous feathers throwing warm, reddish-gold light onto the roughly carved-out rock ceiling.
The floor is smoother, worn down by centuries of dragon shifters working tirelessly to keep the peace in Ellonrift.
I don’t have inner fire like the rest of the team and force myself not to shiver as I take in today’s formation. Five dragon shifters and whatever-the-stars I am. Six phoenixes so far. Too many blades to count.
“We could share,” Kellan offers, knowing that’s patently impossible.
“Fuck you.”
He gives me a heated look. “Anytime you want.”
“How about never, never, never, ever,” I shoot back.
His brows rise so slowly and deliberately that I want to bite them off his forehead. “You mean never again?”
Turning away, I ignore him as the younger birds arrive.
They’re the dragon shifters’ left-wing guards.
There are only two of us without—Danica and me—because our little ones are still too young to fight.
She has her right-wing phoenix, and I have Fyrestar.
Bale gave me three warbirds since I don’t have wings of my own.
Fyrestar catches my attention with a heavy, golden gaze. He doesn’t like that I’m alone—either in flight or in life. But I’m not truly alone. My warbird and I have matching eyes.
The wing guards find their principals and stick to the older birds like pitch, just like Rim will do with Fyrestar soon. But for now, it’s Fyrestar who’s alone, and I don’t like it, but there aren’t any other phoenixes in Ellonrift.
The Dragon King created thirteen phoenixes infused with everlife and his own fire from the thirteen chest scales his greatest enemy sliced through, nearly reaching his heart.
Bale won the battle in the end, but the Vampire King somehow survived.
With some of the strongest magic in Torridaig, Bale created the fiercest, most devoted fighting force in Ellonrift.
He raised the phoenixes to their first maturity and trained them to be as loyal as they are lethal.
Then he established the Elite Wing about two hundred years ago—one dragon shifter for two warbirds.
Or that’s how it’s supposed to work. Bale didn’t fill the last pillar until he chose me straight out of school.
He walked the lines of graduating students, looking us over with narrowed eyes—not that he hadn’t already been watching us for years.
Then he stopped in front of me and offered me a home and a team.
It took half a second to realize I’d bested everyone at school, and another half a second to push my yes past the explosion of excitement launching my heart straight up my throat.
Rimblaze, Embersol, and Fyrestar were the last to be given a soldier.
Maybe it was just luck that three remained, but it gave me a warbird to ride, and two wing guards to make us an even more formidable team.
The day I met my birds, I fully understood how lucky I was—I finally had a real family after all these years.
Some say the Vampire King ripped a fourteenth scale right off Bale’s chest. Bale has never confirmed, but the scar that still marks his skin after all these years makes me think it could be true.
Bale removed the thirteen damaged scales to create our firebirds, and so that new scales could grow in their place.
He doesn’t have a warbird of his own, though Rim, Sol, and Fyrestar flew with him until I came along.
As usual, Kellan doesn’t let the subject drop. “Never ever is a long time when you live as long as we do. We’ll see what happens in a decade or two.” His admittedly attractive blue eyes dip over me. “Or we could just go back a couple dozen years and remember the good times?”
I glare at him, hearing Maia quietly snort to my front and Arran groan softly behind me. They were good times, but they’re over. Kellan needs to let go of the past and stop dragging everyone else into our business.
Our finished business.
“Or, I could reach my hand down your throat and yank out your vocal cords so you’ll stop bringing up ancient history,” I growl.
He chuckles. “Love your fire, Idallia. Too bad it doesn’t actually burn.”
My nostrils flare on a sharp breath.
Not having a comeback enrages me, but it doesn’t matter. Everyone goes quiet and faces forward as Bale Cinderheart explodes like a volcanic blast into the war room.