Phoenix (27 page)

I carry her into a nearby tavern, which has been converted into a makeshift mortuary.
Madame Clara and a few other Dacian women are cleaning up the bodies, preparing them
to be buried. The old lady tilts her head up at me as I lay Giselle’s body on the
table in front of her. A waft of Giselle’s rose water perfume fills the air, and Madame
Clara clamps a hand to her mouth, recognizing it.

“No,” she whispers.

“I’m so sorry,” I reply. The words sound hollow coming from my mouth.

Madame Clara’s lips tremble slightly. She reaches out a hand, and I take it. It’s
a small gesture, but it means a lot.

I kiss her on the cheek, give Giselle one last look, then go and find Natalie and
Elijah.

It’s time to get the Ora.

NATALIE

THE NORTH DOCKS
are in chaos, with fires blazing and debris everywhere. The shell of the Destroyer
Ship sticks out of the harbor waters like a strange sculpture. The water is strewn
with dead bodies. I tear my eyes away from the scene. It’s one thing knowing there
were people aboard the airships; it’s another thing seeing their charred remains bobbing
up and down on the waves.

“We’re looking for a boat called the
Merry Weather,
” Elijah says to us as we hurry down the promenade.

We inspect the ships’ names until we find a lone steamboat anchored near a rocky outcrop.
It’s a fishing vessel, with nets and hooks dangling from the sides. The words
The Merry Weather
are painted in perfect yellow calligraphy over the emerald-green paint. Ash tosses
our bags onto the deck and leaps on board, before helping me and Elijah on.

Ash pulls up the anchor, while Elijah takes the wheel, since he knows where we’re
going. He steers us out of the port, being careful to avoid the hull of the Destroyer
Ship. I pretend the thumps I hear against the side of the boat are just debris and
not bodies.

I’m relieved when Elijah puts the engines on full throttle and we reach the open water.

Ash wraps his arms around me as we sail away from Mirror City. Despite the devastation,
it’s still beautiful. The cracked solar panels on the surviving buildings glint in
the sunlight.

When the city is nothing more than a glimmering speck in the distance, I head down
to the cabin. It’s small but functional, with a tiny kitchen area complete with table,
a restroom that’s seen better days and one bedroom filled with a bed just big enough
for me and Ash, if we squish together. I guess Elijah will sleep on the deck.

I drop my bag on the creaking bed and check my reflection in the small silvered mirror,
curling my lip at the stranger who stares back at me. How can Ash want to be with
me, when he knows I’m just going to get worse? My skin will rot, my hair will fall
out, and I’m going to become a monster. Worry grips me again, but there’s no point
getting upset—the cat is out of the bag, and we’re just going to have to deal with
it.

The boat rocks as we hit a rough patch of water, and my stomach churns. Urgh. I don’t
know how I’m going to stay on this boat for the next few days, but I don’t have a
choice. It’s the fastest way to Viridis.

I rub my stomach, trying to ease the nausea. It seems to be worse in the evening.
I rummage around my bag for one of Madame Clara’s herbal remedies and swallow a few
drops of her gingerroot tonic. It helps a little. The door swings open, and Ash silently
enters the bedroom, fire in his eyes. He knocks my bag onto the floor, scoops me up
and lays me down on the bed, then slowly, teasingly, undresses me. He kisses me from
head to toe, until I’m tingling all over. My heart is racing, and I want him more
than anything, but we shouldn’t risk it. The night of our engagement was a one-off.
We got lucky. I couldn’t bear it if he got sick because of me.

“I don’t think we should . . .” I bite my lip.

His fingers trail down my stomach. He’s not making this easy for me.

“All right,” he says, pulling the covers over me.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

He strokes my cheek. “Don’t be. It’s not important. All I care about is being with
you.”

I shift across the bed, giving him more space. He wraps his arms around me, and we
nestle together, our hands locked. I’m never going to let him go again. The light
slowly changes in the bedroom as we sail across the sea, turning from turquoise blue
to salmon pink as the sun dips below the horizon. Dark gray clouds start to form across
the sky. When I was a kid, I used to watch the sunset with Polly and my father while
my mother worked in her office. I feel a twinge of sorrow, thinking about my mother.

“Ash, I’ve been thinking,” I eventually say. “I’d like to find my mother.”

“All right,” he says without protest.

Wow, that was easier than I expected. Searching for my mother isn’t the best use of
our time, considering we’re in the middle of a war, plus my mother isn’t exactly Ash’s
favorite person in the world after everything she did to him and the Darklings, but
he understands why I need her around me now.

“She’s going to be devastated when she finds out I’m sick,” I say. “Especially after
losing Polly.”

“It’s not going to be an issue, because I’m going to find a cure,” he says determinedly.

I don’t say anything. It’s a futile quest, and he must know that. There is no cure
for what I have. My best chance at finding one was at the Barren Lands, where the
Wrath was created, and there was nothing there.

“Maybe Elijah will let the rebel scientists do some experiments on him, work out how
he’s resistant to the virus,” Ash continues.

I turn around to face him. His inky black hair gently stirs around his pale face,
and there’s a smudge of Cinderstone powder down the bridge of his narrow nose.

“I won’t let anyone do experiments on Elijah, not after what my mother did to him,”
I say, wiping the powder away. “He’s been through enough.”

“But—”

“No,” I say firmly, ending that conversation.

Ash doesn’t push it, although I can tell his mind is whirring, thinking of ways to
save me. I let him. If he needs that glimmer of hope in order to get through these
next few months, then who am I to deny him that? Hope isn’t a luxury I have anymore,
but I want him to have it.

I shut my eyes, exhausted after such an eventful day, and let the boat rock me to
sleep. I dream of Polly again, only this time we’re kids running around the mansion
back in Black City. We’re playing hide-and-seek. I go searching for her, skipping
down the corridors, but something is wrong. I can’t find her. She’s not under her
bed, or in Mother’s closet, or in the pantry, where she usually hides. I start to
run around the house in search of her, until I reach my father’s study. There’s a
red rose painted on the door. Something warns me not to go inside, but I need to find
Polly and win the game. My hand turns the brass knob, and I open the door and—

I start awake, shivering all over. The bed is empty—Ash isn’t here.

I don’t have time to really register this as I grab my robe and rush to the toilet
and throw up, tears streaming down my face as grief grips me again. The loss of my
sister keeps hitting me in waves. Some days I manage not to think about her much at
all, but then I have moments like this, when the horror of her death—her
murder
—bubbles up to the surface again. I rock back and forth, crying, until the pain starts
to subside. The one and only bonus of having the Wrath is that at least I’ll be united
with my sister again soon.

When I’m able to stand, I splash some water over my face and then quietly pad toward
the kitchen, hoping to find some food to settle my stomach. I hear voices coming from
the deck above me and head upstairs.

Ash and Elijah are leaning against the railing, both looking out at the inky sea.
They talk in hushed tones.

Ash sighs heavily. “I just love her so much, it’s . . .”

“Killing you, knowing she’s sick?” Elijah finishes for him. “I know how you feel.”

“You really care for her, don’t you?” Ash says.

“Do you blame me?” Elijah gazes down at the ocean. “Ever since she rescued me from
those labs, she’s been on my mind night and day.” He sighs. “She’s never thought of
me as anything but a friend, though.”

“I’m sorry,” Ash says.

“No you’re not,” Elijah replies, smiling slightly.

Ash tilts his head up to the moon. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without her.
I already lost her once; I can’t stand the thought of losing her again.”

Elijah surprises me by gripping Ash’s shoulder.

“We’ll find a cure,” he says.

“And what if we don’t?” Ash asks.

“Then you know what I have to do,” Elijah replies. “It’s the most humane solution.”

Ash looks Elijah in the eye. He gives a faint nod of his head.

They don’t say it explicitly, but I know what’s just been promised. When I fully turn
into a Wrath, Elijah’s going to kill me.

NATALIE

FOR THE NEXT
few days, we sail across the ocean. We hit a rough patch of weather on the first night,
causing the boat to tilt wildly, until I’m positive we’re going to sink. Ash comforts
me as I cling to the toilet bowl. This nausea is just getting worse, hitting me at
all times of the day, making it impossible to hold anything down except dry crackers.

The next morning, the storm passes and the waters become calm and still once more.
I even manage to make it out onto the deck to enjoy the fresh, salty air. Ash wraps
a blanket around my shoulders to keep me warm, and kisses my forehead. Elijah pretends
not to notice, although a flash of jealousy flickers over his face.

Ash spends the day reading his mom’s diary to me. He uses the photograph of his mom’s
family as a bookmark. The picture is faded and curling at the edges, but since it’s
around thirty years old, that’s hardly surprising.

When we’re not reading the diary, the three of us are huddled around the portable
digital screen that Ash stole from the guards on the train back in the Barren Lands.
The reception is poor, but we see enough to work out that there’s been more fighting
in Thrace, but so far the Dacians have held the city. As we suspected, Purian Rose
has kept his armies positioned at the most strategically important locations.

The bounty on our heads has also gone up to a hundred thousand coins each. Ash grins,
finding that amusing, although it concerns me that everyone in this country will be
desperate to turn us over—even a few of the rebels. It’s a
lot
of money.

Elsewhere around the United Sentry States, there have been more uprisings—this time
in Niobium, Old Bay Town, and Ashfall. It seems our victory in Thrace has encouraged
more people to join the fight, but all of these later uprisings have failed. We watch
the government’s footage from each of the cities. All the captured rebels are hung
from the ghetto walls, as a reminder to everyone of what happens to race traitors.
At this pace the rebellion will be over in a matter of weeks. It doesn’t give us much
time to complete our mission. I turn off the digital screen, not wanting to see any
more.

That night, Elijah finds a bottle of spiced Shine hidden away in one of the cupboards.
The boys drink—I haven’t the stomach for it—while we listen to music on the crackling
radio, the stars glittering above us. Elijah shows us a traditional Bastet dance,
which makes us giggle.

“All right, your turn,” he says, disgruntled.

Ash gets up and does a funny jig, which he claims is a Darkling folk dance, but I
know he’s just making it up. I burst out laughing, as does Elijah.

“You mocking my moves, blondie?” Ash teases.

I nod.

He sits down beside me, and we kiss. It’s so wonderful to be kissing him again, to
have his fingers laced through mine. I don’t think this moment could be any more perfect.
I hope I can hold on to the memory of this night. As the temperature drops, Ash picks
me up and takes me back to our bed and kisses me until dawn.

It must be around noon when Elijah’s voice wakes us up.

“Land ahoy!” he calls down to us.

We quickly dress and hurry up to the deck. It’s a beautiful day: sunny but not too
hot, with clear blue skies and a fresh floral perfume in the air. The boat sails past
a sheer cliff face hundreds of feet high and covered in twisting vines and lush green
foliage. Colorful birds fly overhead, calling out to each other in beautiful song.
The foliage starts to thin out as we approach Viridis—the “Vertical City.”

“Oh!” I say, amazed, as Elijah slows the steamboat so we can get a better look.

Built into the cliff face is a sprawling city, which reminds me of the famous favelas
in the Southern States. The hundreds of blocky, rose-hued buildings with flat roofs
are packed so closely together, it’s impossible to tell where one house ends and another
begins—they all appear to be part of the same organic structure. Crumbling stone steps
zigzag through the favela, toward the main city at the top of the cliff. What really
takes my breath away is the waterfall that cascades down the middle of the city, spraying
clouds of mist into the air.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” he says, smiling.

Once we’re safely docked, Elijah turns off the engine and lowers the anchor. We put
on our hooded robes, collect our bags and follow him up the steep pathway through
the favela, climbing an endless number of steps. My injured leg throbs with the effort,
and we have to stop every few minutes so I can rest. Ash takes my bag from me and
slings it over his shoulder, along with his own bag. The street is so narrow in places,
you can touch the crumbling walls of the buildings on either side of you if you stretch
out your arms.

Ash and I keep our hoods low over our faces, so the passing Bastets don’t recognize
us, although they’re not paying any attention to us—they’re more interested in Elijah,
who is strutting around like he owns the place. I suppose he sort of does—he
is
the Consul’s son.

The farther we go through the city, the more I notice how impoverished it is. Many
years’ worth of graffiti is scrawled over the houses, quite a few of which are on
the verge of collapsing and are being held up by the buildings around them. Paint
peels off the doors and windows, and the sinking roofs have been crudely repaired
with whatever material is at hand—cloth, sheet metal, wood.

Elijah leads us through a network of side streets and up more steps, until we reach
an enormous plaza. The ground is made of thousands of tiny, colorful mosaic tiles,
which form a dizzying geometric pattern.

Up ahead is a sprawling villa, made of the same rose-hued stone as the rest of the
buildings in the city. It looks centuries old, its walls cracking and flaking; part
of the west wing is falling down. It’s not exactly the embassy I was expecting.

“Home, sweet home,” Elijah mutters.

We enter the villa through the arched doorway into the atrium. The long hallway is
cool and airy, thanks to the vaulted glass ceiling. On either side of the atrium are
four closed doors, while directly in front of us is a set of large rosewood doors.
I can hear voices on the other side.

The foyer is devoid of sculptures or paintings, but there are several large, freestanding
cages around the room, filled with small red birds with thin, forked tails. They’re
incredibly pretty, but they could be venomous snakes, given the way Elijah looks at
them. The birds let out a terrible screeching cry as we walk past them, and Elijah
quickly whistles a four-note tune. The birds immediately stop squawking.

“What sort of birds are they?” I say, my ears still ringing.

“Siren birds,” he replies. “We use them to alert the guards to intruders.”On cue,
two Bastet guards rush out of one of the side rooms, their rifles raised. Both men
are packed with muscle and are wearing matching outfits—dark pants, leather vests,
black boots, and gold bands around their wrists—the exact outfit Elijah wore the night
he turned up at the Ivy Church, which I find odd. They lower their guns when they
see Elijah.

“Is my dad in the senate chamber?” Elijah asks.

One of the guards nods, and they beckon us to follow them. They open up the large
rosewood doors at the end of the corridor, and we enter a spacious, airy room with
arched windows and jade pillars holding up the vaulted ceiling, which has been painted
to look like the sky outside. Hanging from the back wall is an enormous tapestry of
the United Sentry States, which is old and out of date.

Around the chamber are a dozen armed guards, who have their guns trained on us. They’re
here to protect the people sitting at the circular table in the center of the room.
At the head of the table is a middle-aged Bastet man, with thick russet hair, full
lips and dark spots down the sides of his face. There’s no doubting he’s Elijah’s
father, Consul Bezier Theroux. He’s smartly dressed in a hunter-green tailored frock
coat, with a copper and gold embroidered vest, white shirt and silken cravat.

Beside him is a beautiful but stern-looking Bastet woman, her long brunette mane carefully
teased into ringlets. She’s wearing an amber-colored bustle dress, with delicate beading
down the bodice. The markings on her face are much lighter than Elijah’s dad’s markings,
and I’m guessing this is Rowanne, the Consul’s wife. To her left are three teenage
boys, who must be Elijah’s brothers, based on his descriptions of them.

Acelot, the eldest and tallest of the brothers, is the spitting image of his father,
with the same russet mane and fierce eyes. He’s dressed more casually than everyone
else, in a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a cobalt green vest and
black pants. His younger sibling, Donatien, is so skinny, he shrinks inside his expensive
clothes. Finally, Elijah’s youngest brother, Marcel, slouches in the seat farthest
from his father. He’s immaculately dressed, like the Consul, and is startlingly attractive,
with lips as sensuous as Elijah’s, razor-sharp cheekbones and beautiful dark-brown
markings down the sides of his face and neck. The whole effect is ruined, though,
by the arrogant sneer on his lips.

The other nine senators—five men, four women—wear either frock coats and frilled shirts
like the Consul, or bustle dresses similar to Rowanne’s, but in varying jewel colors.

Elijah bows. “Father, I’ve brought you Natalie Buchanan and Ash Fisher.”

Bezier gives Elijah an approving look. “I wasn’t sure you’d be able to persuade them
to come. I underestimated you, son.”

Elijah beams, as if he’s been paid the greatest compliment. “Thank you, Father.”

Marcel rolls his eyes.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Consul,” Ash says, bowing slightly.

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you.” Bezier smiles, but there’s something unsettling
about the gesture.

“I don’t see your mother,” Rowanne says to Elijah. “Does this mean you’ve failed to
retrieve the Ora?”

“Yes, but I know where it is,” Elijah says in a rush.

She sighs heavily, and turns her honey-colored eyes toward me and Ash. They have none
of the warmth of Elijah’s. Hers are cold, calculating, just like my mother’s.

I nervously clear my throat. “Elijah asked us here to speak with the senate.”

“We’d like you to consider joining the rebellion,” Ash continues. “With your support,
we can—”

Bezier raises his hand, cutting Ash off midsentence.

“We know why you’re here, but I’m afraid we’re not interested.” Bezier smirks at the
senate. “As if we would ever side with the
Darklings.
”

All the Bastets laugh, except for Elijah and his eldest brother, Acelot.

I turn to Elijah. “What’s going on?”

He flicks a remorseful look at us just as the Bastet guards rush at me and Ash.

I realize now we weren’t here to persuade the senate to join the rebellion.

Elijah’s led us straight into a trap.