Chapter 17
Seventeen
A laire staggered, the voice thrumming through her bones, filling the hollow spaces inside her. And then?—
From the heart of the inferno, it emerged.
Wings unfurled in a torrent of flame curling upward—a display of burning crimson so deep it was nearly black at its core, bleeding into sizzling oranges and blazing yellows at the tips, with a tail tipped in violet.
Born of ash and flame, the Celestial Familiar of the lost House Ashfyre rose.
Her phoenix.
Lowering with effortless precision into a quadrupedal stance, its talons sank gently into the earth. Its very posture was regal, molten embers scattering around it.
From behind her, Dawson exhaled harshly in disbelief. “It can’t be.”
Eyes like twin suns locked onto her green ones, burning straight through her, carving something deep into her bones. Something that had always been there, waiting. Every scar, every moment of pain, every night she’d gone hungry—it had all been leading to this.
The bond snapped into place with a force unlike anything Alaire had ever experienced, searing through her every nerve, every breath, every heartbeat.
It felt like coming home.
And then she was falling, plunging into the depths of a memory that unfolded like the pages of a book.
Alaire looked up, up, up at towering sandstone cliffs rising from the dry ground in deep shades of red, orange, and ochre.
Smoothed domes and jagged peaks cut into the sky.
Cacti and juniper trees dotted the desert.
In one hand, she clutched a small bouquet of wildflowers; in the other, the familiar softness of her mother’s hand.
She had never traveled into the Ashen Grove.
Her father walked beside her, his palm resting casually on the pommel of his sword.
When he caught her staring, he gave her a cheeky wink.
His hair was cropped short, the tips of his rounded ears reddened by the sun.
Overhead, her mother’s phoenix called—a cry so familiar they were never apart for long.
Sweat slid down her back. The fabric of her dress itched, but her mother had insisted today was special and she could change as soon as they returned to the castle. Her mother’s hair was pinned up, as it always was in the heat, ruby earrings sparkling in the sunlight.
Deep in the desert, her parents stopped amongst a grove of sycamore trees. At its center sat a hearth with no one to tend it. Alaire hesitated, wary of what might be inside. Her mother squeezed her hand and gently urged her forward.
“Come, darling, and see.”
In what looked like a small crater lay a single, oval-shaped object, impossibly smooth, with faint veins of amber running through it.
Alaire cocked her head. “It looks like a rock.”
“It’s an egg. Maybe one day, your egg.”
“Mine?” Her mouth formed an O.
“One day, it will hatch, and the phoenix inside will imprint on someone from our bloodline—someone it deems worthy. If it chooses you, you’ll have a Celestial Familiar, like me.”
Her smile stretched so far her cheeks ached. She loved playing with her mother’s phoenix, Aria, and every night she prayed to the gods for one of her own.
The memory blurred into another.
In the castle, a diadem rested on a cushion of crimson velvet. Made of solid gold, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
Alaire darted to the door, pressing her ear against it. When she was sure no one was listening, she ran back. Lifting the crown with careful hands, she raised it before the mirror as high as her arms would allow and set it on her head.
For just a moment, it stayed. Alaire Vallorian, Queen of Aurelia.
The door behind her opened. She jumped; the crown slipped, tilting until it sat askew on her forehead.
A melodic laugh rang out from behind her.
The memory dissolved.
She gasped, eyes snapping open to the present.
The clearing spun around her, drenched in golden light. Heat pressed against her skin. The phoenix was watching her, cataloging her expressions, waiting.
Because it knew.
Tears welled as she remembered her parents. Remembered who she was. She clung tightly to that memory—the first from before the orphanage. Her mother’s smile. Her father’s wink. The warmth of being loved .
The truth crushed her harder than any blow. Her mother had been the Queen of Aurelia, her father the king.
Alaire was the last remaining Vallorian. Not Alaire Aerendyl, but Alaire Vallorian.
Her hands rose to her ears—rounded, like her father’s. But her mother’s had been pointed…
Half-fae.
That’s why she had magic. Why the royal bloodlines Dawson had spoken of worked so hard to stay pure. They feared this.
Feared halflings like her .
And yet her parents had chosen each other anyway—chosen love over everything.
The weight of that sacrifice slammed into her, splitting her heart wide open.
Alaire pressed her palms to her eyes, trying to hold herself together. Everything was unraveling and, at the same time, falling into place.
The magic. The pull that had led her here. Professor Ross’s offer. It all made sense now.
Footsteps approached from behind. Dawson. She wasn’t ready for his questions. Not yet.
Instead, she turned toward the phoenix. “Wait—you talked to me. In my head?”
With each beat of its wings, sparks rained around it, a fiery declaration of power.
“ Indeed , I did . My name is Solflara ,” the phoenix drawled.
Dawson had told her that when a celestial imprinted, it was for life, granting creature and bonded the ability to speak mind-to-mind.
She had imprinted with the phoenix. The same egg she’d seen in her memory.
Alaire’s eyes widened as Solflara’s gaze bore into hers. Amber eyes, fierce and bright, already filled with wisdom—and beneath it, the purity of devotion.
“Beautiful,” Alaire breathed.
Solflara gave a melodic cry that pierced the stillness of the forest.
“From ashes to flame, the phoenix will rise again,” Alaire murmured. The motto of House Ashfyre—her family.
The phoenix’s flames flared, bright as the heart of a forge.
Wonder splintered into dread. She knew the tales of Starfall’s fateful night.
She might not remember it all yet, but she knew this much was true: Professor Elowen had said “impossible sacrifices were made that night,” and now the nightmares made sense—burning flesh, the stench of singed hair, the screaming.
Shame coiled in her gut. Somehow, beyond all reason, she survived. And what had she done with that precious life? Stolen food to survive. Lied, cheated, and bartered away pieces of herself in dark alleys to see another day.
She hadn’t honored their legacy. She’d squandered it. Alaire had become precisely what the world expected of a human orphan: broken, worthless, barely deserving of the life they’d died to give her.
All of it was too much. She couldn’t?—
“You made a mistake,” she blurted, voice shaking. “You can’t be bonded to me. I wasn’t—I can’t—there must be someone else.”
Solflara hissed. “ Excuse me . I do not make mistakes .”
“Take it back.”
The phoenix tilted her head. “ And how would you like me to do that ? Reverse time , curl back into an egg , and wait centuries for someone else ?”
“Yes. Wait. Can you?—”
Solflara leveled her with a deadpan stare. “ I’m not dignifying that question with an answer . Alaire Vallorian , I have been waiting for you for years .”
“I’m sorry you’ve wasted all that time,” she said, forcing her gaze away. “But you’ve chosen wrong. This can’t work.”
She had dreamed of this moment as a child, prayed for it every night. It was everything she’d ever wanted. She ran a hand through her tangled, wet hair. But wanting something didn’t make you worthy of it.
Behind her, Dawson stood rigid, forearms tense, Beck’s tail curled around his ankles. She hadn’t even noticed him descend into the sinkhole.
“ Can’t or won’t ?”
“Both.” Gods, she wanted this. Wanted her. But deserving Solflara was another thing entirely. “I didn’t ask for this,” she mumbled, hands restless at her sides. “I can’t… I don’t deserve this.”
“ Fate does not weigh desire ,” Solflara said, each word striking like a bell. “ It is not the way of destiny . Like your kin before you , you were born to rise from the ashes — not remain amongst them . You were born to wield flame , to burn as bright as the stars .”
“Before burning out like a supernova,” she bit out, turning away.
“You don’t understand. I’ve stolen. Lied.
Cheated. Sold pieces of my soul just to survive.
My parents died…” Her voice broke—a jagged reminder of the life she could’ve had.
A family. A safe home. The scars of the past—loss, grief, and the choices she’d made—had etched themselves deeply into her soul.
“All I am is a disappointment. A stain on everything the Vallorian name once meant.”
The whispers slithered back in, hissing that she didn’t belong, that she wasn’t enough—until they drowned out everything else.
She gripped her hair. “You’re sacred. The last phoenix. You deserve someone worthy of what you are, not some gutter rat who?—”
“ Alaire ,” Solflara interrupted gently, “ this is your birthright . Let’s go home. ”
“No,” she rasped. “There’s nothing left there except death. I have no right to claim anything—not after what I’ve become. I have no home.” That final thought shredded her heart.
Over the years, her heart—once full of love—had hardened into something unyielding, shaped by fear, anguish, and anger. Survival had come at a cost. She’d learned to endure, but it had left her propelled by fury and cut off from everything else.
The shame of what she’d done to survive was written in the scars on her back. She wasn’t worthy of the Vallorian line, not fit to wear the crown she had once adored, and not deserving of a phoenix’s bond. That was a sacred honor.
She was a disappointment. A stain on her family tree. A criminal.
No—she could never go back.
Solflara studied her as Alaire squared her shoulders. She would not budge.