Page 9 of The Phoenix Inheritance

She saved my life, for what it’s worth.

And because of that, because with every mishap she rose to the occasion – be it catching me before I cracked my skull on the ground, my sprained wrist or building her own house – I can’t forget what she said.

She told me I can do anything I want in the world. That’s not true. I can’t become a phoenix merely by wanting it… What have I spent my entire nineteen years doing, other than that? But still, I don’t find it in me to brush off her words.

Perhaps it also has something to do with the warmth in her plain brown eyes when she uttered them.

“Be certain Ehren will meet his end, and a painful one at that. If you only give us some time–”

“Time!” My mother bellows. “Is time what you wanted, with that human whore you kept?”

I grip the seat of my chair. Nothing, not even a war can cause as much disruption in Østrom fort as the mere mention of Honora. And yet I heard her name voiced out loud only once. Even I would fear for my life if I so much as whispered it.

Long ago, before Warwick and I were born, my father loved Honora. A human woman. It’s hard to imagine a man as mighty and fearsome as the phoenix who rules this land falling for a mere weak human. But it’s true, and when a diplomatic voyage to another phoenix Kingdom led him to my mother – his true mate, the one without a mythical being cannot be whole – she went into a blind fury when she learned about his human lover.

She never got over it.

My mother refused to wed the King unless his consort was exiled. He banished Honora and married my mother. It wasn’t enough. She said she wouldn’t give my father a son, if he continued to let mortals live peacefully in Sowilo. He waged a war against each human in the Kingdom. They had Warwick.

Judging by the way things are right now, it’s obvious that still wasn’t enough.

“Darling,” my father is pleading. “It’s been decades. By now…” A wave of grief passes over his face, and from the rare flash of emotion I can guess the depth of the feelings he once had for Honora. “She’s most likely dead.”

Because humans don’t live forever.I know that. Of course I do – that’s the very reason I scorn them so much. Yet for some reason, the thought makes me shoot to my feet. Everyone is so engrossed by the fight between my parents that nobody notices when I leave the room.

I need quiet, I tell myself as I cover my ears to block out the venom of my mother’s voice. I need peace.

I’m almost at the stables, ready to practice sword fighting as I always do when my nerves are in such a state.

I need Isobel.

The thought comes out of nowhere, yet I still consider it. Training would be less of a hassle, as the woods that separate Østrom from Solenz are thick and full of spines.

But the last time I was in such a turmoil over harsh words at the very same table, it was Isobel who calmed the storm within. And for the two weeks that followed, I felt… fine.

That’s what makes me slide my sword back in its sheath.

Because I never feel fine.

Some days I’m consumed with rage. Rage against my father for finding fault within me, against my brother for being the source of those very faults, against my mother for letting her jealousy blind her to all else. But mostly rage against myself for not being what I want to be.

Other times I’m filled with despair. I’m long past the age of revelation for a phoenix. On those days I swallow a whole flask of the scorching solution my Uncle has prepared for me since I was fifteen. It’s embarrassing to ask him to fill my bottle within days when it’s supposed to last a full month, but Uncle Thorsten never complains. He simply brews the potion that should precipitate my phoenix’s coming, and keeps the secret.

And sometimes, I just feel empty. A strange impression of pointlessness, like I’m an outsider observing another’s life.

After an hour’s march, I push past the leaves that give way to the broad, empty expanse of the Barrens. I walk briskly in the direction of Isobel’s cottage, hoping that she’ll be there.

A hint of movement in my otherwise inanimate surroundings makes me halt. I turn towards the lake, a dull, grey vastness stretching before me.

Phoenix or not, the sight that meets my eyes nearly causes me to spontaneously combust.

There, lost in the flat and colorless waters of the Solenz, I can see Isobel.

Only it’s not Isobel quite like I found her a fortnight ago. The most notable item that’s missing is the drab frock she wore last time, which covered her as serviceably as it would a ton of bricks.

I know the decent thing to do would be to close my eyes, but by dragon’s tails, I can’t.

I notice that she isn’t quite as shapeless as I previously made her out to be. Isobel has curves – subtle, but there. Her brownish tresses spill over her narrow shoulders like seaweed, only to leave way to the pale, smooth skin of her back that glistens with a myriad pearls of water in the sunlight. Her trim figure dips gently within, causing me to wildly wonder what it would feel like to rest my hands on the valley of her waist, to splay my fingers over the soft bottom of which I only see a hint…

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