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I hadn't known what to expect from Phurys, but I sure as hell hadn't expectedthis.
It seemed the largest phoenix isle was twice as sunny as any other place in the archipelago I’d visited in my life – golden light glowing on the plastered sandstone buildings and the colourful mosaics that framed the doors and windows, turning the wide square on which we had arrived into a summer scene even inlate autumn. Fountains gurgled around us. Palm trees rustled between the houses. Scents of baked herbs and roasted meat wafted towards us from the market stalls on the far side of the square, where red-haired males and females in long robes had gathered to eat and drink and talk.
And on the nearest side …
I turned. A mere fifty feet away from me, rising proudly over the golden square, stood the Fireborn Palace.
I’d seen paintings and drawings and sketches of it yesterday, dozens of them, and none of them had prepared me for the dazzling glory of the building towering over me – the official heart of Lyn’s people. A broad flight of stairs led up to a reddish-brown façade, intricate gold filigree and gleaming gems lining the walls and windows. A gate gaped before us, granting access to a wide hall covered in colourful, geometric tiles. Slender towers reached into the sunny summer sky, their parapets covered in crystals like dewdrops, and behind that imposing front, a golden dome gleamed decadently in the sunlight, the structure higher and wider than the house in which I’d lived the first twenty years of my life.
It looked like wealth and knowledge, this castle. Like the endless libraries Lyn had told me about, like the work of people who had lived and died more times than I had seen summers in my whole life.
For the first time, I found myself doubting the details of the plan we’d worked out over yesterday’s evening meal.
‘Don’t let yourself be intimidated,’ Tared muttered, hand closing around the shoulder that didn’t contain a bristling, fluffy bird. ‘It’s all show and very little substance.’
I felt like a similarly hollow show myself, I almost said, a little unbound mage wrapped in gold and pearls under the watchful eye of this building older than anyone I knew … Then again, a little unbound mage was what they expected. That was the girlthe Mother had told them about, innocent and naïve and easily susceptible to the treasonous influence of her feared and hated executioner.
The mother-of-pearl bracelet hung heavy on my wrist, a shimmering reminder of the weapons I was bringing.
Softness for movement. Smoothness for mind. Iridescence for magic.
‘Thanks,’ I forced myself to say, drawing in a deep breath. Heads were turning around us, the first passing phoenixes noting the unexpected arrival of outsiders. ‘Anything else I should keep in mind?’
‘I’ll wait here.’ Tared let go of my shoulder, ignoring our growing audience with an enviable lack of concern. ‘Send Alyra my way if you need help. Send her my way if you’ll be gone for longer than an hour, too, with one of your rings to signal that you’re safe and alright. I’ll come and get you otherwise.’
‘Will do.’ Sweat was pearling between my shoulder blades; I wasn’t sure if it was the heat of the bright morning sunlight or the prospect of whatever was waiting for me inside. ‘Don’t kill any phoenixes while I’m gone.’
He grinned at me. ‘Don’t worry. I’m leaving them for Lyn.’
Alf gallantry really was a phenomenon of its own. I managed to more or less answer his smile, steeled my spine, and walked without looking over my shoulder, sun and watching eyes burning into my back. In this lion’s den, I would be a fool to look like I was hoping for anyone’s support or approval on my way inside.
No one stopped me as I climbed the broad stairs stretching along the full width of the palace and strode through the wide-open gate with my head held high. Either the phoenixes in their long, elegant robes had known I would be here, or they saw no reason to keep a lone, human-looking girl from entering.
A spacious hall opened up behind the gate, the many intricate niches and pillars covered in more of those same blue and gold tiles.Walk straight on, Lyn had said, drawing the route on one of the many floorplans of the palace,through the wooden gates with the golden dragons, up the stairs, and then to the right until you see a door flanked by two enormous vases. Someone will probably try to stop you there …
My footsteps echoed menacingly as I walked, the hem of my velvet dress fluttering around my knees, Alyra’s talons digging into my shoulder. As impressive as the palace looked on the outside, I hardly met anyone walking through the corridors – a ghost of a place, a shell of former glory inhabited by five powerful rulers and the handful of people left to serve them.
They’re desperate.
I understood it now, noticing the spiderwebs behind half-closed doors, the cracks and flaking paint behind strategically placed furniture. What must it be like to walk these halls day after day, watching the ship sink ever so slowly and being unable to do anything to keep it afloat?
Then again …
Lyn had been trying to keep them afloat. And they’d cast her out over it all the same.
I walked a little faster.
Alyra grew tenser with every step, her little head shooting from left to right as if she was waiting for the wing thieves to show up. But she held perfectly still when finally, by the door with the vases Lyn had described to me, two tall phoenixes stepped forward and commanded me to stand and wait, speaking the most archaic version of my native language I’d ever heard from anyone’s lips.
There was something unnerving about it, two males who looked to be in their thirties yet sounded like they were half a century older than the oldest inhabitants of Cathra and Ildhelm.It told me all I needed to know about their contact with the rest of the world since losing the Last Battle.
‘Morning,’ I said, granting them my coldest smile. ‘I have an appointment with the elders.’
The one on the left – meticulously curled beard, gem-set golden earrings, and a sword the size of a grown man in his hand – narrowed his eyes. ‘Emelin of Agenor’s house?’
It took all I had not to sweep into a dramatic bow. ‘That’s me.’
He looked me up and down twice, as if he had expected at least ten more inches and a pair of velvet wings, then exchanged a quick look with his colleague – smooth-shaven, thin-lipped, and holding a loaded crossbow. ‘Where is your alf?’
