Page 123 of Of Flame and Fury

Savita flew higher. Clouds soared alongside them. Below, Kel could see not just the red, dry dust and speckled forests of Cendor—but all of Salta. Ebrait, swathed in water and blue temples. The emerald isle of Dresva. Pale buildings and shimmering sprites across Ascira. All she’d ever known.

Would Savita coat Kel in her ashes? Or would she leave Salta tofind a new freedom, and kill Kel with her rebirth? Kel didn’t have an answer. But she had hope—and a family to return to.

And now, soaring over sapphire oceans and fiery gales, Kel would be damned if this was the last time she’d fly.

She didn’t believe in myths and legends. But Cristo, despite his brutal flaws,hadproven the science of his dream. If Savita permitted it, maybe rebirth was possible for her, too.

Savita rose higher into the sky. Kel bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. The fire around her was starting to eat at her fingers, her hands, ghostly beneath the softening moonlight. Soon, the blaze would envelop her entirely. But it wasn’t painful.

The fire felt like bottled sunlight. Like a fast breeze or a sharp melody. Harsh and unstoppable—and something Kel wanted to bask in forever.

When Savita rose above the gray clouds, the first rays of dawn glimmering along the distant horizon, her screams changed. They were no longer pitchy and shrill, but piercingly clear. Notes that rose and fell carefully, in a familiar rhythm that Kel could sing in her sleep.

It was her song.Savita’s song.

The tune that Kel had sung to the uncollared phoenix in Fieror. The lullaby her father had always sung to her at night. She felt Savita’s voice swell around her, coaxing the flames higher, like obedient serpents. The song was made of wind chimes and lightning and barren heat. It was Cendor, in all its sharp, wild, breathtaking beauty.

Kel twined her voice with Savita’s, though not in song, but in a hope.

A promise.

EPILOGUE

Warren Coupers crept through the Varra Farm’s empty paddocks.

Crickets serenaded the encroaching dusk. The knee-high grass shivered as rabbits darted between fields. The critters had grown arrogant without Savita to chase them.

Coup inhaled the scents of pollen, weeds and wildflowers. He felt like he’d been between breaths all month. Ever since…

Feet heavy, he stalked toward the reason he’d returned to Fieror.

Even if Cristo had lied about everything else, in this, he’d stayed true to his word; Kel’s new aviary was an architectural marvel, all gleaming panels and sleek silver bones. The dome soared twice as high as its predecessor, a crystal cathedral stark against the horizon. Coup peered through the glass. Cristo’s contractors had already filled the aviary with heat lights and native greenery, ready if Savita returned home.

It was a wonder. Coup could imagine Kel’s grin—rare and just as wondrous—at the sight of it.

He wanted to burn the damn thing to the ground.

Five weeks.How had it only been that long? A lifetime had passed since Kel vanished into the dawn. He knew the other Howlers felt it, too. Time bent at odd angles around them, swift and slow, never quite reaching the empty space at his side. Leaving the memory of her pain-stricken face untouched.

Coup’s eyes traced the aviary’s steel skeleton, forcing his mind to empty. Despite his best attempts, every thought led back to Kel. He’d hoped checking on her farm would be enough to pacify the fear shrouding her name, even in his mind. More than anything, he feared never having another chance to speak her name while looking into those storm-gray eyes. He’d never again call hertamerorVarra, and relish how her nose scrunched in response. His heart would never again race the way it did when she said his name.

Footsteps crunched behind him. Then, a whistle of approval. “This puts Cristo’s aviaries to shame.”

His brother’s shadow loomed along the earth, meeting Coup’s. Bekn’s hand landed on his shoulder. “She’ll love it.”

Coup flinched. Bekn remained certain that Kel would return, or, at least, he pretended to. But that false certainty kept ripping away any scab that tried to heal over Coup’s heart.

“You didn’t have to come,” Coup said softly.

“I wanted to. I needed a solid excuse to spend a few days off camera.”

Bekn came to Coup’s side, head tilted toward the dome. Dark stubble traced his jaw, and his jacket hung awkwardly off his shoulders, as if he’d lost weight. This was the stillest Coup had seen him since Kel vanished into the sky. Bekn had been busy these past five weeks, making sure to tell their story before anyone else could; it had stopped Cristo’s loyalists from forcing the Howlers into infamy or intercepting their tale.

While Bekn was preoccupied, Coup had learned as much as he could about phoenix rebirths. It usually only took a week or two for the ash to reform into a chick. Some reports suggested longer, over a month. Every new scrap of hope tore at the pit in his gut; a bird flitting about in the corner of his eye, a flash of Kel’s face on the news. But what if Savita had abandoned Kel to rebirth, leaving her alone, whimpering in pain as AB consumed her?

Or what if the legends were true, and Savita had healed Kel just as Deja had saved Ryker?

He’d read that when phoenixes rebirthed, they usually reformed much larger than when hatched from an egg. About the size of a small horse. Strong enough to be ridden, if the rider and mount wished to return home.

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