Page 16 of The Phoenix Inheritance

Though I still haven’t become a phoenix, I’m not the same scrawny, skittish boy I once was. Now I can look at the slithering snakes in the eye, and they no longer make me want to crawl under the nearest furniture available.

“It’s my pleasure,” I say as I lay a customary kiss on the Gorgon daughter’s hand. “Amaru, you look stunning this evening.”

And it’s no lie. Her serpent hair, considerably more graceful than her father’s, is tressed into an elaborate plait. The frames she wears to thwart her powers are also much finer, more like a piece of jewelry than a shield against her curse. Amaru is a classic beauty for all but her reptilian mane and spectacles, with lush green eyes and an alluring grin.

But her skin feels cold where Isobel’s was soft and warm. Amaru’s hand is hard and unyielding. The fine bones of Isobel’s fingers are as human and brittle as could be, yet they were the ones I felt fluttering over me – my face, my chest, and down below…

“I’ve been desperately curious to meet the Sowilo Prince they keep in the shadows,” the viper beauty susurates. “All we ever hear about is Warwick. Does the King hide you away because he fears he’ll never marry his eldest son if we see you?”

Before I can tell her how far off the mark she is, the Gorgon King chuckles and excuses himself.

“I’ll let you two be then.” He walks away, but not without turning around one last time with a mirthful beam: “A serpent and a phoenix… That’s a great match, if you ask me.”

I turn my attention back to Amaru. She’s still smiling, but it doesn’t give me that strange, fuzzy feeling inside.

“Would you like me to show you the gardens?”

She winds her arm around mine. “Please. Let’s get away from the crowd.”

I lead her outside, but I soon realize that the greenery doesn’t interest Amaru in the slightest. Her emerald eyes are focused on me as I make small talk – or to be precise, on my lips.

“I’ve heard that the ones who manifest their natures the latest are always the most fierce,” she interrupts my tedious description of Østrom’s waterwork system with an admiring glance at my build. “Judging by the strength you acquired as a human, you’ll make an incredible phoenix.”

Out of the blue, I hear Isobel’s quieter voice murmur those strange words weeks ago. Real strength is about how much hurt you can endure, and how you can turn it to your advantage.

I smile despite myself at the memory. “I still have a lot to learn,” I confess. “I’ve gained a lot of bulk because I train every day, but that’s only ever practice. I’ve never yet been in the arena. I’ve never been brought to the ground to see if I can stand up again.”

Amaru sends me a skeptical look. “When you walk into that arena, never let your brother bring you down in the first place. You’ve lost the battle the minute you fall, even if the victory goes to you once the points are tallied.”

I frown. I could’ve said the exact same thing, because falling can only ever be weak, and what matters is to never drop one’s armor in front of anyone to show what truly lies inside.

But maybe I’m a coward, because deep down I know I won’t be capable of snatching only victories without a single defeat. I’ve lost more than once – I lost to my brother in all ways that count since the day I was born. If I were a man like Warwick or our father, I wouldn’t ache so dreadfully inside with every disappointed look. I probably wouldn’t lose to begin with.

It’s at that moment that I realize I can’t think like Amaru does anymore, or like every person I’ve ever met, save for Isobel. Not because I believe that praising power above all is wrong, but because I’ve got too much to lose.

I’ll never be as mighty as I yearn to be. Even if my phoenix finally decides to poke its head out, all the years I spent in pain won’t disappear. I’ll never be as hard on the outside as my father, if inside I’m writhing and raw. That’s something I’ve tried to change, but I don’t think I can.

Because there was a time when I wasn’t battling a raging volcano in my chest. With Isobel. Our encounters, in all their outlandish, awkward, flawed glory, make me feel… right.

My considerations are cut short when I notice Amaru has approached dangerously. Her striking face hovers no further than Isobel’s did three days ago.

“You’re a bit tongue-tied. How about I help you untie it?”

I gulp, and there’s no denying the bolt of lust that courses through my veins. Amaru is the most attractive female I’ve ever seen up close.

But what if I go down this path, what if I taste her luscious lips, what if Amaru – or any other woman at this ball for that matter – and I became engaged?

She could wait years, and I wouldn’t become a phoenix. Eventually she would just become another pair of eyes with disappointment lurking in them, no matter how pretty the color.

Or even worse, judging by the power Amaru holds in that green gaze. For all my reluctance to stay human, I have to admit a mortal life is a step up from spending the rest of my years as a statue.

And even if I were to reveal myself as a phoenix someday. I can’t live my life dreading the slightest failure for fear of losing my partner’s love and respect.

I place my hands on Amaru’s shoulders and back away.

“I’m not too talkative most of the time,” I tell her in a low voice. “It didn’t mean anything more than that.”

The serpents in her hair actually hiss their tongues at me, and I barely repress a flinch.

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