TRIGGER WARNINGS: fantasy-typical fight, blood and wounds consistent with a fight, panic and stress and fear, character death of a named character as well as unnamed characters
Chapter 9
The Embrace
Phoenix and Daeva roll out of sight, tussling and brawling, teeth flashing as magic flares on the both of them, flames and stretching limbs. For every blow Phoenix deals, Daeva lashes out in turn, until I can no longer see them and I have problems to deal with of my own.
The fight moves fast, and my anxiety skyrockets, weaving its way through my body and turning everything around me into a haze. I’m rooted in place as shouts erupt around me and the shing of weapons being drawn grates across my ears and people move far too fast and I see flames exploding out of the corner of my eye and I smell sweat and smoke. I cannot move. Somewhere in my mind, a wriggling feeling tells me that I must; that I have to. That there’s some very important reason, but another part of my mind won’t let me fully connect to the why. There’s something very bad going on around me and I should be trying to help. A splatter of blood hits me across the face and I flinch.
There’s something I should be doing.
I know there’s something I should be doing, but what?
“Grey!” someone shouts behind me.
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump, fingers splaying out as I reconnect with my surroundings.
Wyatt stands beside me, a Soldier’s sword in their hand, dripping blood as they hold onto my shoulder.
“You good there? Looks like you were having some trouble.”
I curl my fingers into my shorts. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Wyatt hums. “We don’t have a choice. Fight now, and we can talk later, ok? We can talk all we need later, but right now we do not have a choice. Fight, Grey. However you need to. There are no rules if they attack first with the intent to kill. Defend yourself so we can all find Alex.”
A Guard comes for Wyatt, and they swing the sword, slicing through the Guard’s ribcage. Blood pours down their side, and I look away.
An arrow sinks into the back of my arm, and I screech through bared teeth. The malachite medallion blazes on my chest like a brand. I sprint away from wherever the arrow had come from as I grip it, edges of my vision blurred through pain and anger, and rip it out. Hot blood bubbles down my skin in rivulets.
I make it to Ky, who is reared up on his hind legs, tussling with a Soldier. The Soldier reaches around his shoulders to yank at the ruff of fluffy fur around his shoulders. Instead, he grips onto the red bandana and jerks. Rage flares in Ky’s eyes. He moves with the Soldier to release the tension on the bandana, sending them both to the ground. His full weight falls onto the Soldier, crushing the air from his lungs, and Ky curls his claws into the Soldier’s throat in the space above his armor, a hind paw high on his thigh.
I run forward and reach out for the Soldier’s hand. I wrap my fingers around his and pry them away from the bandana. Whatever it means, it’s important. Dirt stains and sun-faded spots, it’s important to Ky. I offer a silent apology when my bloody fingers leave scarlet smudges on the fabric.
The Soldier rips his hand away from mine and punches Ky across the face. With a snarl and bared teeth, Ky slices his claws through the Soldier’s throat and shoves his paw up underneath his jaw, forcing the Soldier’s head up at an unnatural angle, until it lolls to the side.
Teeth chattering, I look away as the light fades from the Soldier’s eyes and something shifts within him. He’s still human, and he looks exactly the same, yet he’s… he’s not there.
Where did you go?
A Guard shoots an arrow yet again. I cannot immediately tell which Guard since the fight still surrounds us from all sides. The arrow does not hit me this time. A blessing, in that the malachite medallion can heal me a little more. A curse, in that it still hits its target. Ky yowls, curling around himself to bite at the arrow lodged in behind his shoulder.
As if acting on instinct, Ky shakes his head and takes a step, then yelps, eyes glazing over for a moment as he casts an illusion. Around me, half the Guard and Soldiers tilt their heads to the side and, almost in a trance, approach their comrades with weapons drawn. A Soldier runs his sword through a gap in another Soldier’s armor, while a Guard shoots an arrow through a Soldier’s neck and a Guard stabs another Guard in the heart.
What’s the limit on what Ky can do?
A few seconds later, I see the blood. A thin trickle runs from the corner of Ky’s mouth, while more drips from his nose.
Ky licks it away quickly, but not fast enough. He catches me looking and shakes his head. I hesitate, but when he gives me a firmer glance, I concede and nod.
A Soldier unaffected by Ky’s illusion swings their sword in a huge motion. I duck down and step back, and the force carries the Soldier away from me, exposing their back. I drive my shoulder into their side and send them stumbling into a Guard, who barks out an angry shout. The two fight amongst each other, and soon more join in. They throw punches and hurl insults. Nothing fatal, but it’s enough to distract and pull some from the fight with injuries that will take a long time to heal. I turn away and seek out Myles and Wyatt, trusting in Ky and Phoenix.
I step over bodies, some burned, some with throats and torsos slashed open by teeth or weapons, and some with stab wounds. I see a few with puncture wounds where Phoenix sunk his upper canine teeth into their flesh, then pulled out without ripping skin, leaving a gaping wound hemorrhaging blood.
It could've been slower.
I drop to my knees with a shriek when an arrow pierces my lower abdomen. The malachite medallion flares on my chest, a brand against my skin as it tells me to shift, to remove the arrow and go after the Guard as it heals me; it will seal the wound before I lose any more blood, as long as I don’t get more injured than it can heal at once.
I take a breath and grit my teeth against another wave of blinding pain. Memories of the Guard at the Amethyst Throne when the King and the Soldier holding Alex decided I would be killed first after the sham of a trial with the Judge and Justice wash through my mind. How many arrows shot through my body, how much blood I lost, how I thought I was going to die that day and I wouldn’t get to say goodbye and I would die for a reason I didn’t understand over a necklace I had just found and a word and a being —the Dove— I didn’t even know I was so soon before. How could I truly have been the Dove when I hadn’t really even know what that had meant?
I yank the arrow from my body and shift into my dove form as blood seeps from my belly. I whirl on the Guard, who’s accompanied by several more Guard and Soldiers.
I cry out in frustration, somewhere between a coo and a grunt. The sound drags across my throat, rasping like the sand beneath my talons and between my feathers as I flap my wings and stir up a cloud. Flying forward, I grasp the Guard in my feet and take to the air, shaking him when he tries to stab me with his dagger until he drops it.
However, he beats at me with his fists, and one lands on my ankle. The pain stuns me for a moment, and I loosen my grip enough that I let go of the Guard. He falls from high enough that I know he won’t make it, not with how he falls headfirst.
No, I think, diving after the Guard before I can think it through.
I tuck my wings into my sides, plummeting after him. An arrow whizzes past my head, forcing me to twist to the side and leave the Guard to his fate. He hits the ground, shoulders first and head right behind. His neck twists and I hear a crack as I tumble into two Soldiers, biting at them with my beak and crowding them into their comrades.
When I catch a glimpse of the Guard, I hesitate for just a moment. His head lays at an angle that’s anything but natural, and his eyes stare straight into mine, blank and glassy, while his arms sprawl out to the side. His knuckles are reddened with the beginnings of bruises. Scratches litter his leather armor, both old and new.
A flurry of punches scatter across my face. Startled, I shift back to my human form, tripping over my feet before I fall backward. The Soldiers are upon me before I can react. I roll away to dodge the first sword strike, but the second connects with my arm, on top of where Phoenix’s burn injury is still finishing healing. Blood seeps through the gash, and I gasp at the pain, biting back a screech that still slips through.
“Oh, good,” Phoenix says after ripping his incisors through the Soldiers’ jugular veins. “You fucking killed, Grey. I thought I was gonna have to force you into that.”
“Please don’t.”
“Get over it. He was gonna kill you. Self defense. Simple as that. Don’t give him another thought and move on.” Phoenix flicks his tail, raking his gaze across the battle around us.
“He was alive.”
“And now he ain’t and he can’t kill ya. Easy. Now go kill more so they can’t hurt you. Lucius will take them. Hopefully to somewhere mighty unpleasant.”
Maybe to someplace where they can unlearn everything the King taught them. Maybe they can still learn better. Maybe they can work to become better than they are. Everyone can change.
I duck when a Soldier stomps forward, gripping his sword in two white-knuckled fists that he heaves up with gritted teeth and swings in a movement that carries his whole body sideways. I drive my elbow into the space below his ribcage where Alex once told me the armor isn’t as thick. He goes down with a cry of pain.
Phoenix watches from the sidelines and gives me a pointed look at the Soldier crumpled on the ground, still alive. He raises an eyebrow.
I shake my head. No, I will not kill the Soldier.
An arrow whizzes past my spine, brushing the cord of the malachite medallion. It didn’t break. I’m not sure that it can break; I cannot remove the malachite medallion. The sensation of the arrow so close to my body sends me darting forward a pace and a half.
“You’re gonna get yourself killed, Grey,” Phoenix drawls.
I feel the heat of his flames as he trots up behind me. I turn to face an incoming attack from a Guard and see Phoenix slam his forepaws down on the head of the Soldier just as he’s beginning to stand. He doesn’t get up again, and his armor glows a faint yellow.
The injuries I’ve sustained scream and make every movement an agony. My abdomen is one searing wall of pain. Sweat coats my skin and I don’t know if it’s more from the exertion or the injuries. I can feel the malachite medallion healing me, but it’s slow.
It can only heal me for so much at once.
I cannot fight to injure. I have to fight to kill; the fight has to be over quick enough.
I glance in the direction of the Guard’s body, remembering the unnatural angle of his neck and hold back a shudder.
Two Guard come for me, each with their dagger drawn. One has his bow slung over his back.
We exchange punches and attacks as Phoenix allows himself to get caught up in another round of battle. I attempt to back away, to leave and give them an opportunity to escape, but they only advance further.
I make my way around to the back of the Guard and grab at his bow, jerking it back. He immediately tries to slip out of it, but I pull back harder. His arm releases from beneath the bowstring, leaving it taut around his throat, until he steps back to create enough give to almost slip free, but I see a way out of this. I snap one side of the bow to release the tension, then wrap the bowstring around the throat of the Guard. He scrabbles at his neck and tries to kick at me. The other Guard tries to attack me, but I manage to keep the Guard between us.
I silently plead with them to stop, with all the Guard and Soldiers here to stop. I don’t want to fight. I want to find my sister and go home. I don’t want to be the Dove. I just want to be Grey who teaches students and tries to teach them that the King isn’t actually the man he says he is. I don’t want to go up against the King and his entire army because I don’t want a fight. I want to talk it out and find a resolution that doesn’t involve dead bodies on both sides.
But they don’t listen, and I keep my grip on the Guard until he stops fighting and slumps into my hold, his full weight leaning into me. For just a moment I’m worried I kept the bowstring around his throat too long, but when I loosen it and lower him to the ground I see his chest rise in a shallow breath. He’ll have a bruise and probably some sort of nasty injury, but he’s alive. He’s not meeting Lucius, although I’m certain they are here somewhere I cannot see as they collect souls to bring into their claim.
I pull the broken bow free from the Guard’s neck, and the bowstring feels like a snake in my hold, something dangerous and waiting, a pair of beady eyes watching with gleaming fangs ready to strike. With my other hand I bend to pick up the Guard’s dagger.
I want to sink to my knees and breathe, count to four with taps on my thighs over and over until the storm in my head quiets down to the point it lets me think again, try to figure out some way to feel whatever it is I have to feel so I can know how to find my sister and piece together whatever I have to so I can know where the new Midnight Wolf is. But I can’t.
The remaining Guard advances upon me, muscles tense but footsteps light, eyes locked on as he watches me.
We circle each other, and I let him make the first move; if he had retreated and gone, I would have let him, but he didn’t. He lunges at me, dagger at the ready and violence in his face.
“Come with me, Dove,” he demands as he tries to grab my arm and force me to the ground.
I twist free of his grip, driving the hilt of my dagger into the junction between his shoulder and neck, right above where his leather armor ends. He jerks away with a sharp cry.
“Fuck!”
My vision blurs out and I choke, then scream, when he grabs at my waist and digs a thumb into the still-healing wound from the arrow. New blood seeps out as white-hot pain sears through my body. I clench my fingers around the dagger so hard I wonder if they’ll break before the dagger does.
“Again, Grey!” I hear Phoenix shout.
His voice sounds so far away, like he’s across Ragdon from me. Cold sweat breaks out across my skin, and I shake as the Guard pushes his thumb further into the arrow wound. Nausea roils in my gut and I dry heave.
“Grey!” Phoenix roars. “You’d better fucking stab him right fucking now. I swear to fucking Erebus and Lucius if you don’t I’m coming over there and beating it through your skull. Oh, get back here, you cowardly little Soldier… You touch me again with that sword and- Fuck. You.”
He trails off, and my vision swims, blurring as I lose touch with my body. I hang onto the dagger, my only tether to the world.
“You’re coming with me, Dove,” the Guard spits. “You must stand trial before the Judge and Justice.”
“STAB HIM!” Phoenix snarls.
You stab him, I think, thoughts drifting around my head like iron wings on a sharp breeze, edges like razors, slicing through everything it brushes against. You should stab him, Phoenix.
I begin to go limp in the Guard’s grip as the pain takes its toll, and I sag into the ground beneath me.
Alex. I have to find Alex.
But I can’t. I don’t have the energy.
I’m sorry, Alex. I’m so sorry.
I can’t. I failed.
“GREY, STAB HIM RIGHT! FUCKING! NOW!” Phoenix breaks off into a pained yowl and growls something at someone else.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
I adjust the dagger in my hand, dragging my other hand across the dirt and sand and coughing when I inhale dust. I can feel blood seeping through my shirt into the ground as the Guard drags me a pace or two, then lets go, kneeling by my side and leaning over my back.
When I open my eyes, I can barely see. Phoenix is a black and orange smudge surrounded by silver and brown as he turns into a blur and moves, knocking the other fuzzy blobs to the ground. My own hand right in front of me is just as out of focus. All the energy has drained out of my body, and while the malachite medallion tries to heal me —I feel it pouring every bit of its magic into my body to counter the injuries I’ve sustained— it’s not enough. Its heat cannot warm me against the cold of my wounds. Every breath rasps against the back of my throat. The dove within me flutters weakly.
"STAB HIM!" Phoenix roars again.
Alex.
My sister is out there. She’s somewhere out there.
I need a little more, I tell the pendant. Just a little more. I know you’re giving everything you have, but please, I need more. I need more if I’m going to find Alex. I won’t survive going back to the King. I don’t know if I’ll survive this.
It pulses against my chest, a flare of heat, like it’s telling me it heard my request.
I don’t get much, but I get a little more energy, a soothing balm of warmth that flows over my body like an afternoon breeze on a calm, pleasant day. It’s a small relief to the agony that is the Guard’s persistent attack upon me and his intent to bring me back to the King. That trickle of healing energy patches over the worst of my injuries just enough to the point I can move with great difficulty. I pant for breath, steeling myself.
For Alex.
I count to four, then shove myself up onto an elbow, whirl around and force my brain to shut off as I drag the dagger’s blade across the Guard’s throat. Red fills my vision as blood pours down the Guard’s chest and splatters across my face and body. I go stiff as the Guard slumps forward, head falling into my shoulder as he chokes on his blood, then goes limp.
Breaths coming short and shallow, I push the Guard off of me, standing up with the dagger still in my hand. My legs tingle and go numb, but I force myself to stay standing, shaking with stress, pain, fear, the magic of the malachite medallion, and everything that has happened hitting like a knockout punch straight to the face.
xxxx
When Phoenix finds Daeva again, the fight isn’t pretty.
It’s slower than it was before, when he had gotten the upper hand so quickly. The two seem far more evenly matched.
I’d found Ky again shortly after killing the Guard. He’d asked about all the blood, and I’d shook my head. There must’ve been something in his expression, because he had a look of understanding and didn’t press.
Daeva’s forelegs and tail stretch out and contract as she curves her body all around, graceful to Phoenix’s brute strength. She taunts him, voice like molten sugar left out in the sun too long. Phoenix bites back to every scathing insult, chewing her out just as she does him.
Phoenix feigns a lunge to the left and Daeva follows, leaving her back exposed, and Phoenix takes advantage. He leaps to her rear and scrapes his claws down her back. Purple blood streams down her skin, and Daeva yowls. She elongates her tail and wraps it around his foreleg, tripping him up and sending Phoenix tumbling to the ground with a hiss.
When I move to step in, Ky stops me.
He shakes his head. “Don’t, Grey. This is Phoenix’s fight.”
Ky must see my concern because he shakes his head again, a well-worn grief washing over his features. His ears fall to the sides.
“Phoenix will not lose this fight. He truly lost a fight once before, and he will not lose again.”
Myles swings his staff and whacks a Guard across the temple. He drops to the ground unconscious. Behind him, Wyatt trails by a few paces, jabbing at a Soldier with a long sword and a frustrated expression on their face.
I grip the dagger I still have when another Guard draws too close and hold it tight, dropping into a low stance like I’d seen Alex do when she taught her students how to fight. Balancing my weight and staying light on my toes, ready to move and react… except that the whole position feels unnatural and foreign.
I can feel the malachite medallion working to heal me, but I can also feel the injuries and they plead with me to stop, to lay down, to rest, to do anything but keep standing and moving and fighting.
I don’t want to fight either.
Blood trickles from the arrow wound on my abdomen, a sickly warmth on my skin that makes me want to vomit.
“Don’t,” I say, hoping with everything in me that the Guard won’t make the first move.
“Look around,” Wyatt says, raising their voice until it rings out loud enough that virtually all can hear them. “Many of your comrades have fallen and met Lucius right here. We can continue fighting, and Aiyana will accompany you as you walk from Erebus’s creation to meet Ananta and Lucius.” They lace their fingers together, expression thoughtful. “Now, I understand your King does not appreciate failure, but I’d like to ask you to consider this: Which do you value more— your life or serving your King? Would you give up your life in a mission that has proven time and time again to be so unsuccessful, yet you always go about it in the same way?”
Why’d you give them new ideas?
Yet at the same time, I can’t help but hope that maybe, even just for one, Wyatt’s words might spark some sort of thought, a little something that might begin the process of changing the way they think and make them reconsider what they’ve believed as Guard and Soldiers.
“We will not return without the Dove and the Phoenix and their allies,” a Soldier barks.
“You will not be returning with a General,” Ky replies immediately without looking back. “And you will be getting not a Dove, nor a Phoenix, nor any allies. You won’t even be getting a little Illusionist, either.”
“We cannot return,” the Guard who had been approaching me says, something torn in his expression.
I stand up straight, holding the Soldier’s sword at my side.
“We will not go with you,” I reply.
The Guard considers me. “Then we are at an impasse, because none of us can leave without you.”
Ky takes a breath and sits down, still watching Phoenix and Daeva fight. “Pretty soon none of you will have the chance to leave. I’d carefully consider what my friend just said— they’re rather smart. They’re skilled as a doctor, but they’re not skilled enough to heal however many of you have had the dumb luck to survive this long.”
Phoenix wraps his forelegs around Daeva’s body with a dry roar, voice hoarse. His claws sink into the flesh on her shoulders, digging in until they draw purple blood. He shoves her away, throwing her into the sand, the rocks by the brook. She spits at him, hair a halo of dirty, mottled browns beneath where she lays. Her emerald eyes glitter like shards of gems, chipped off and broken, tilted just right to catch the sun in a blinding glare.
Her forelegs and tail twist, shattered chains around her forelimbs clinking as she elongates her legs to reach for Phoenix who glares at her, sides heaving, then lunges, as Phoenix steps back several paces to rear up and meet her, flames blazing as he roars.
“You need to come with us,” the Guard repeats.
“What the fuck,” Ky scoffs, huffing through an open mouth with an expression of disbelief. “What part of no has not been clear to you?”
“None of us are going with you,” Myles adds.
A few gashes litter his body, and the side of his shirt has been torn. Blood stains the split edges. Wyatt curls their hands into fists when a Soldier tries to sneak up behind them, staring the Soldier down until he retreats.
Ky tears his gaze away from Phoenix’s fight, trusting his brother to keep going, and walks around the three of us.
“You have not captured any of us. Phoenix will kill Daeva. We will kill anyone who does not retreat, and Phoenix will kill anyone who remains after he is done with Daeva. He will not be in a merciful mood after sending his first General to Lucius, and I will help him. I am telling you to leave. I have already turned some of you against each other with my illusions, and I can do it again. Leave, but we’re keeping Daeva.”
“The Dove looks like he’s about to pass out. Are you sure you should be making such bold claims?” a Guard asks, one who appears to hold a leadership position from his presence and how his leather armor doesn’t look quite the same, though I can’t get a good look through the Guard and Soldiers standing in front of him.
“Yes,” Ky says, confident with his head held high.
“Leave,” Myles echoes. “We will not go with you. You were not successful, and I know you do not all wish to die here today. You may bring your fallen comrades with you to honor them properly with their families, but please, leave.”
“No,” the lead Guard says. “You will be coming with us.”
Ky closes his eyes and sighs. When he opens them again, cloudiness starts to swirl over his gaze with the start of an illusion. The memory of the blood dripping from his nose and mouth flashes through my head.
“Please,” I cry out. To whom I’m speaking, I don’t know, but I just want someone to listen. This back and forth clearly isn’t working; it’s going nowhere and none of us are going to agree. We’re not going with the Guard and Soldiers, and they’re not leaving without us. If we could just all part ways without any more deaths.
Except for Daeva’s, a voice in the back of my mind tells me, knowing that Phoenix isn’t going to give up his fight with Daeva easily.
“Go,” Wyatt demands. “You will not win here. You have not won. How many more must you lose to Lucius’s claim before you all can understand that? We will not go with you.”
Ky shakes out his fur with a low growl. “How many of you have been Guard and Soldiers for a decade or longer?”
I study him for a moment, widening my stance when I begin to sway from exhaustion and blood loss, then look at the scattering of nods. A few frown in confusion, but even fewer seem to immediately put pieces together that I do not understand.
“For those that have been in the Guard and Soldiers for over a decade, you will know why we will never go with you. So leave now, if you want to explain to the cream puff why this doomed mission he sent you on failed. Otherwise,” Ky says, “the cream puff will be left to assume and come to his own conclusions on just how, exactly, you all failed.”
xxxx
The Guard and Soldiers do leave, in the end, but not without threats of how they will return and bring us to the foot of the Amethyst Throne for our trials.
I stare blankly at the sand and brook as they leave, hearing the sounds of Phoenix and Daeva still tearing each other to pieces, though they sound so far away, as if they’re somewhere on the other side of the Badlands and not so close to us.
Wyatt approaches me, movements predictable and slow.
“Hey, Grey,” they say, voice soft and quiet. “Would you allow me to take a look at your injuries? I’d like to see how you’re doing.”
I drag my gaze to theirs. I have to watch them for close to a minute before I can process what they’ve said.
I shrug. “Do what you need to. I need to make sure nothing happens to Phoenix.”
“Thank you, Grey. Tell me if anything hurts or if you’d like me to stop at any time and I will.”
Wyatt’s touch is light, and they work their way across my wounds as I witness Phoenix’s fight against Daeva.
I hope and pray to Lucius that there will be something left of them both by the end.
Phoenix holds Daeva’s tail down with his hind legs, brackets a foreleg around her ribcage, and knocks her jaw up with his other forepaw, leaving the entirety of her throat exposed. For just a moment, I see Phoenix hesitate. He stares, jaw chattering, as his eyes widen, lighting up in a way that, for just a moment, reminds me of a child.
He smiles, chuckling, then runs his tongue across Daeva’s skin. He does so slowly, lip curling. She bares her teeth, muzzle scrunching up.
“Don’t even think about it, General,” Phoenix sneers, hissing the words against her throat.
I almost don’t want to watch, but I can’t look away. Wyatt places a hand on my shoulder as they lean to look at a scrape across my arm, a steady weight that I lean into, a tether in the storm of my thoughts. They keep me here, present, even as Phoenix and Daeva tear each other apart and hiss and spit, each straining against the other despite exhaustion and injuries, both internal and external. Phoenix only has a few bite wounds, but I don’t have to have Wyatt’s healing training to know that Daeva has done more damage than can be visibly seen and he’s letting on.
Daeva squirms in Phoenix’s hold. His muscles strain as he locks down his grip to keep her down. One of Daeva’s forelegs extends and wraps around Phoenix’s shoulders and neck, while the other lays over his flank.
Phoenix pulls his lips back into a grin that’s all sharp, bloodstained teeth. When Daeva thrashes, he locks down his grip, digging his claws in deep and snarling as he pins her to the ground harder.
“Don’t move,” he spits.
“Let me go.”
“No.”
“What’s he doing?” I ask.
“Revenge,” Ky murmurs, a light smile on his face. He watches with an eagerness that doesn’t quite fit the situation. He pricks his ears and holds his tail high, anticipation written across his body.
Phoenix laves his tongue over Daeva’s throat yet again, and she pins her ears, hissing.
“You know what this is for,” he growls.
When Phoenix parts his jaws and sinks his teeth into Daeva’s skin, I hold my breath, unable to look away yet also unable to stomach the sight. Phoenix doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t sever blood vessels that would let her reach death quickly. He doesn’t use his fire to sear her flesh. He holds down on her throat, and Daeva tightens her grip on Phoenix, wrapping her forearm around his neck and squeezing until he snarls and rakes his claws down her side and sends a wave of flames skittering across her skin. She parts her jaws in a soundless scream, and I grimace. Phoenix curls his lips into a wicked grin, and Ky’s mouth quirks. Wyatt looks over Daeva and shakes their head. Myles stands silently and takes it all in.
It’s an embrace, of sorts. A twisted embrace, what Phoenix and Daeva are sharing, with Phoenix’s jaws locked around her throat.
I freeze, shoulders pulling up as Wyatt places a hand on my shoulder. They’ve continued working their way around, a calming presence I’m grateful for, and a touch that’s both warm and clinical as they see if anything looks off with the wounds I’ve sustained. The malachite medallion will heal, but I want their opinion, too.
Ky takes a step closer to Phoenix and Daeva, leaning in to watch, ears pricked further. Head low and tilted, he reminds me of a kitten, somewhere between child and adult, as he watches Daeva fight back against Phoenix. She tries to angle her head and bite at the paw Phoenix has pressing up beneath her jaws as she twists and writhes. Extending her tail, she yanks on the hind leg she can reach. Phoenix bites down harder, forcing her to let go before she pulls too hard on her own flesh.
I can almost see Lucius walking among us, perhaps right beside me as they approach Daeva, whose struggles become less frequent and weaker. Phoenix’s eyes brighten with every attempt she makes to escape; each one is shorter and less successful and takes longer to occur. Soon, Daeva sags in Phoenix’s body as her eyelids flutter around her unfocused eyes. She leans further into Phoenix. Her long, brown hair whispers as it falls across her back, skin torn with scratches and wounds.
“Why?” I ask, stepping away from Wyatt and ending their examination. They let me go without argument. “Why is Phoenix doing this?”
Phoenix growls around Daeva’s throat. She has almost stopped moving, but I can see her side rising and falling in the slightest of breaths, little wheezes as she clings to life.
“The King of Ragdon deserves it,” Ky says, not referring to the King as the cream puff like he’s done before. “He needs to fall. He needs to die. He cannot keep hurting others.”
Phoenix snarls again, fire rising on his body. He shifts in place, muscles tense, body like a bowstring pulled taut.
“Daeva has been defeated.”
“We defeated her once before,” Ky counters. “She came back. She has proven that she will follow the cream puff’s orders to the letter and to the end. She will continue to try to kill. Will you continue to hold to your belief that killing is never necessary when those who wish you harm will stop at nothing to take your life? What would you have done if you were out here alone and they all came after you? You tried to fly away when it was you and Alex and they shot you down. If Alex hadn’t been there in the King’s Throne Room you would have died. Will you die for your belief that you do not have to kill, Grey? How far will that belief take you?”
“I…” I sigh. I look at Daeva, whose eyelids have fluttered shut, eyelashes long over her cheekbones. “I don’t know. I killed twice, but I… I don’t know that I can again.”
The bodies of the Guard shatter through my mind again, and everything blurs until all I can see are their faces. My skin turns to ice as sweat drenches my body, and my throat closes until I feel I cannot breathe.
Phoenix exhales and snarls, the sound muffled by Daeva’s body, but it’s enough to bring me back to reality before I can get swept away in the panic attack. He pins his ears as he shakes. He adjusts his grip on Daeva’s throat, loosening his teeth to wrap his jaws as far around the entirety of her neck as he can, then jerks his head to the side, letting her neck snap with an audible sound. When her body falls to the ground, sand rises up in a cloud that settles across her in a thin layer. She doesn’t move and lays completely limp, looking exactly the same as she did in life, yet somehow unrecognizable.
Rage keeps every bit of Phoenix’s being locked up tight, as stiff as a bowstring. His sides heave in furious breaths before he spins around, paws heavy on the sand.
I wonder where Lucius is, what they look like as they bring her to death, to their side of this world. Perhaps their vulture is here, too; Ananta swoops in alongside them to assist in claiming Daeva from this world.
Phoenix could’ve done that first. Why did he have to make her suffer like that?
“You don’t know, Grey?” Phoenix scoffs as he stalks toward me, paw prints leaving glass behind from the heat of his flames. “You don’t fucking know? I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. How about you, Myles and Wyatt? How do the two of you feel about killing? Hm?”
Myles shrugs. “I don’t want to, but sometimes you’ve gotta.”
Wyatt tilts their head to the side. “I do not wish to kill; however, there are some instances that may call for stronger force, including lethal measures.”
Phoenix paces on the sand, leaving deep gulleys as he slips on the shifting ground. Ky tries to comfort him but the black cat shakes him off as his flames crackle and spark on his body with streaks of white and blue.
“This is ridiculous. The cream puff deserves it. You know that, right?” Phoenix cries. “Right?!”
“He’s bad,” I say in reply, silently begging that we can somehow figure this out and speak in a way where we can both understand, “but not everything has to be solved through lethal violence. There has to be another way. We cannot just kill everyone.”
Phoenix doesn’t reply. He stares at me, strangely quiet, before he shakes his head, muzzle curling and ears pinning as he squints his eyes.
Phoenix lunges for me. He bounds forward several paces, then rears up and shoves his forepaws into my chest with something desperate in his expression. I tumble back into the sand as Phoenix leaps to stand over me, forepaws on either side of my head and a hind paw on my stomach. The stiff stalk of grass digs into the skin behind my ear and a rock presses up against my shoulder blade, but I cannot move. Freezing in place, my breath catches in my throat, but I manage to bring my hands up to my sides, holding them open. I look somewhere near Phoenix’s shoulder, squinting against the blinding brightness of his flames. Silhouetted behind the flames, the small, twin horns on his forehead curl inward, deadly points looking even sharper from below.
“You don’t get to tell me that the cream puff’s violence doesn’t make him deserve death. He deserves far worse than death. There isn’t punishment enough for him.”
The rage in Phoenix’s voice makes me shiver. A splatter of bloodied saliva hits me on the cheek, and I wince, trying to turn away, but a paw batting me across the face makes me turn back.
“You don’t get to turn away when I’m talking to you.” Phoenix leans in close until his nose nearly touches mine. I can see every bit of his upper canines, how they extend far past his lower jaw. I grit my teeth. “You don’t get to turn away so you can’t hear. I thought you said you wanted your students to hear what a fucked up guy the cream puff is? How they shouldn’t follow him?”
“I do, but I can’t just tell them that.”
“Sure you can. It’s real fuckin’ easy.”
I squeeze my eyes close and take a breath, resisting the urge to try to squirm away. “I didn’t mean it like that. I am entirely capable of telling my students how corrupt and messed up the King is, but if the King catches on, I will be removed as a teacher and someone else will be assigned and I will lose my position. I can’t try to help that way. But I can teach the kids how to think critically and question things and how to consider different perspectives and the biases someone may have. I have to teach what the King assigns, but I also fit in other teachings from others. We learn about others, not just the King. If I do that, then I have to believe that they will be able to recognize what the King is doing. Perhaps not every single student, but enough that I can make a difference. Everyone’s worth understanding, and that can happen if we all listen and offer an ear and a bit of kindness.”
“There is no understanding the cream puff.”
I still don’t meet Phoenix’s eyes. “I meant that the kids learn that the King isn’t the only one who has a story to learn about. You can learn about and understand everyone, because everyone has a story. That story isn’t necessarily one you agree with. The King has a story, but his is one filled with terrible decisions.”
“Is this your way of getting me to tell you why I fucking hate the cream puff so fucking much?”
This time I do meet his gaze, and I almost flinch at the rage broiling within. “If you wish to share. I will not attempt to force you to do so if you don’t wish to.”
Phoenix studies me for several long moments that seem to tick on for eternity, as he looks between my eyes.
Finally, he steps away, sitting down as he flicks his tail and flexes his toes on a forepaw. He draws his ears back, then relaxes them. When Ky rubs his cheek over Phoenix’s neck, he leans into it and returns the gesture, nuzzling into the red bandana around Ky’s shoulders and taking a breath.
I push myself to my elbows, then sit up, careful to not move too fast; this moment is one that could shatter with so little as a breath out of place.
“I didn’t always hate the cream puff this much,” Phoenix starts. His gaze turns distant as he loses himself to a memory I can immediately tell is extremely unpleasant. “Until I was ten, I didn’t really know who he was and just didn’t like him but mostly didn’t particularly care.”