Page 23 of The Phoenix Inheritance

That’s how I realized I knew a lot about how to live as the phoenix I may never be, but very little about how to get by as the human I currently am. I probably caught myself in her cast nets more often than I captured any fish, but Isobel was always there to untangle me. Not without having a good laugh, to my disgruntlement.

My escapades to Solenz were greatly aided by my brother, who guessed what I’d been up to the instant I sneaked back the night of the ball.

“You smiled at breakfast,” he pointed out the morning after I first made love to Isobel. “I nearly fell off my chair. Considering the injury you almost caused me, I think it’s only fair I know who she is.”

I mustered my fiercest glare, but I was in such a good mood it probably wasn’t as terrifying as intended.

“You’re a phoenix. You would've healed the minute after.” As his brows only flew higher, I grumbled: “I won’t tell you. Not in a thousand years.”

Warwick being Warwick, his smirk grew even more wide. “Oh, a forbidden love story! I always knew you’d be more of a romantic underneath all the gruff.” He clapped my shoulder so hard I stumbled. “Congratulations, little brother. I’m proud of you.”

“Leave me alone.”

Undaunted, my brother looked through the window thoughtfully. “You and I are supposed to travel west tomorrow to discuss the pearl industry with the Merpeople. Father won’t be there.” His azure eyes flitted back to me. “I could say you came.”

My jaw dropped. “You’d do that for me?”

“You’re not half as homely when you don’t look like you just swallowed a lemon.” When I continued to stare at him in astoundment, some of his trademark humor vanished. “Dane, of course I would. You’re my brother. I want you to be happy.”

My gaze dropped to my feet, suddenly guilty about all the times I acted surly with Warwick just because of how amazing he is. “Thanks. I don’t know how I can repay the favor.”

He stood before me and lifted a single finger. “Just tell me one thing.”

Coming from Warwick, I expected him to ask for some racy detail, or at least if Isobel was beautiful.

“Is she nice?”

I smiled, insanely grateful that I was born second to this scoundrel, even if I can never measure up to him.

“The nicest.”

Moments after, I bumped into my mother. Our gazes usually only meet briefly, but for some reason that day she looked longer.

I watched in bewilderment as her fingers lifted to my forehead to swipe away a few stray strands.

“You’re looking so handsome these days,” she murmured almost to herself. “So much like your father.”

A startled but pleased smile stretched over my face, yet my mother’s blue eyes soon hardened with that faraway look of hers. She walked away without another word, but I felt incredibly grateful for the small moment.

As the days went by, Warwick came up with alibis for me time and time again – some slightly more preposterous than others, like the time he claimed I couldn’t make it home for dinner because I was too busy beheading a dragon. But Father would never doubt the word of his most cherished son. So I continued to sneak out of the fort in peace, visiting Isobel to my heart’s content.

“Ah, my favorite nephew,” a low voice utters, pulling me away from my thoughts. “You haven't been at Østrom much lately.”

I turn away from my contemplation of the scenery through my room’s window, where I spy the forest that separates me from Isobel.

“I’ve been busy,” I say apologetically to my uncle, a double of my father save for his longer beard and the quiet intelligence in his eyes.

“So I’ve heard,” he responds with a slight smile. “So busy you’ve been forgetting to take your medicine, it seems.” He gives a quick glance around and discreetly hands something from underneath his cloak. “I found this lying around the gardens this morning. I filled it for you, so hurry and take the days you missed, or the brew’s potency will be diminished.”

I must’ve dropped it the night of the ball, I realize as I gaze at the familiar gourd, marked with my very own coat of arms – a phoenix perched on the left horn of Taurus, the constellation under which I was born. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell my Uncle that I no longer drink the mixture he prepares for me at all.

The day after making love to Isobel on top of her roof, I was too elated to recall how to buckle my own shoe. For the first time since I turned fifteen, I forgot to drink my potion.

The following night I rushed back to Isobel’s cottage. We made love by the hearth of her fireplace.

I forgot again.

After skipping a whole week I realize I lost my guard altogether. Strangely enough, I wasn’t bothered in the least. My body rejoiced in its new vitality, not missing a drop of the philter that twists my guts in agony.

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