Page 8

FIVE

S hock waves surged through the inn, shaking the walls and knocking empty stools to the ground. Kel braced herself. All insults forgotten, Kel, Dira, Coup and Bekn exchanged worried frowns as another unholy scream wrenched apart the air.

Kel elbowed through the crowd to the inn’s creaky porch, Dira and Coup following close behind her. Dread knotted her stomach.

At the center of an empty construction zone across the narrow street, a flash of pale red flapped two hazy wings. Slightly smaller than Savita, its beak was sharper, longer than most phoenixes, more like a sword than a knife.

Kel stared at the phoenix batting its wings in confusion, and the disheveled man to its right, dressed in singed sapphire clothing and holding a collar in the air like a trophy.

Shit.

Kel’s breath shallowed, cold sweat trickling down her forehead.

They were all going to die.

Another man knelt on the rough ground, his shaking hands grappling for the phoenix’s halter and leash, which were still tied around the creature’s neck.

But the phoenix—newly free—thrashed about in wild uncertainty.

The creature sent rosy trails of smoke into the air and released another bone-chilling shriek that made the porch tremble.

The halter and leash would be of no use. They were flimsy things used to guide phoenixes, not overpower them. Collars were the only true means of control, and this man had removed it.

Kel glanced to the right. There was a public aviary next door, where traveling CAPR crews kept their phoenixes during racing season. The man on the ground still wore his security lanyard from today’s race; he must have been the bird’s tamer.

The other man waved the silver collar in the air, addressing his audience: “Phoenixes will rise! The creatures of Salta were born to rule—and nature is fighting for their rights. You cannot tame fire, just as you cannot douse its fumes!”

Kel saw a tattoo below his wrist: two overlain double spirals; one red, one blue.

The Fume’s symbol.

Nausea blurred Kel’s vision.

A few other CAPR racers inched forward, as if to help the kneeling tamer. Then another, louder, primal scream escaped the phoenix, halting their steps. Despite the growing heat, goose bumps broke out across Kel’s arms.

Another screech tore through the air, and a painful blaze of heat forced everyone back to the porch.

In a scarlet burst, both men crumbled to ash.

Kel’s stomach roiled. Their charred bones fell to the dirt with a soft thump , like leaves hitting damp ground. Gasps filled the air, though no one was rash enough to cry out and risk the phoenix’s attention.

She dug her nails into her palms as her knees wobbled, fighting back the memory trying to overlay the scene. Her father, shredded apart by an injured, wild cinder phoenix he’d tried to bandage. He was simply broken, hollow, gone , just like Oska—

The phoenix raised its crimson neck and released a guttural cry. Kel felt its temperature cool slightly as it folded back its wings, scraping heavy talons across the ground.

Sweat trickled down Kel’s spine. Without a collar, the phoenix could destroy the entire island.

It was even more dangerous than a wild phoenix—this tamed beast wasn’t used to its own uninhibited power.

It had clearly never felt its full strength.

Though its wings stayed tucked, it began to thrash its head.

The temperature around them crept up again, and the air trembled.

A few people broke free of the crowd and dashed down the street. The phoenix watched them, jerking back as if frightened.

Kel’s mind replayed the last two minutes from different angles, recalling fragments of knowledge her father had taught her.

This phoenix had allowed the cultist—a stranger—close enough to remove its collar. It also looked perplexed by its own power. The bird was a foot or two shorter than Savita, with pale red coloring and a narrow beak.

A spinel phoenix.

They were lucky it was one of the more docile subspecies; if it was a carnel or monarch phoenix, they’d all be dead already.

Kel catalogued the phoenix’s every breath, every feather, every movement, and compared them against what she knew of spinel phoenixes.

They were a defensive species with an average temperature. Omnivores, like every phoenix, but with an appetite for smaller prey—insects and grains. They were scavengers, and often trained for races.

Kel knew she could help. She knew .

“Dira,” she whispered, “get back inside The Ferret.”

“No way,” Dira muttered. “I’m not leaving you.”

Kel reached for her friend’s arm. “Do you know anything about calming spinel phoenixes?”

Dira clenched her jaw, but said nothing. Though she could anticipate a phoenix’s speed and strength on a track, it was Kel’s job to react.

Kel squeezed Dira’s elbow. “Keep an eye on me through a window. Just get somewhere safe.”

Dira groaned in protest, but turned back to The Ferret’s door. She tried to tug Bekn and Coup inside, too. The former followed with shuffled steps.

But Coup didn’t move. His amber eyes, flaring as bright as any phoenix flame, locked on Kel’s.

“Go back inside,” she repeated. “Get as many people as you can off the street.”

“We’re not in a race, tamer. You can’t order me around just yet.” Coup glanced toward the crowd. “They’re not going anywhere, either.”

Slowly, Coup moved closer to Kel’s right. “You don’t have to trust me —but trust that I know how to handle phoenixes and rowdy crowds. I can help.”

Kel didn’t have time to argue with him, and even if she was the best tamer across Cendor, there was little chance she could pull this off alone.

“We need to get its collar back on before it realizes it can fly off,” Kel said, reluctantly. “But it’s going to be hard to get close enough with this crowd circling like vultures.”

The collar lay on the ground amid the cultist’s blackened remains. No one was close enough to reach for it.

She didn’t know how she’d manage it. She’d never touched Savita—or any phoenix—without her leather gloves. But if they didn’t recollar this phoenix soon, they’d all have far greater concerns than burned hands.

Coup nodded, face taut. “I can distract them. Are you sure you can handle the phoenix?”

Kel heard none of the usual mockery in his voice.

Slowly, she nodded.

In a few long strides, he leaped off the inn’s ancient porch and moved around to the side of the building. Out of sight.

Almost a minute passed before a commotion echoed from behind the inn, drawing all attention—including the phoenix’s. Seconds later, a darker trail of smoke climbed into the sky.

One by one, heads turned toward the growing smoke. The crowd was filled with enough regulars to know where it was coming from: the nearest public phoenix aviary.

Kel heard the crowd mumbling about another uncollared phoenix before they began trickling toward the smoke. Others crept back inside The Ferret while the phoenix was distracted. They were out of the way—but the phoenix was growing hotter, its head whipping back and its wings beginning to beat.

Kel crept forward. Muscle memory replaced her fear, born from years at Savita’s side. She pulled a handful of dehydrated insects and broken grains from her pocket. Kel felt the phoenix’s gaze jerk up, but she kept hers carefully on the ground.

She heard slow, careful footsteps behind her. Coup. He shuffled closer, shoving something small and silver into his pocket. The sudden movement made the phoenix grumble. More smoke trailed into the sky, crimson and black tangling in blistering ribbons. Kel swallowed a sharp wave of fear.

“I led everyone over to the public aviary and circled back, but they won’t be fooled for long,” Coup panted, voice low. “What’s the plan?”

“Go back and keep them occupied,” she whispered, not wanting to know how he’d started the fire. “I’ve got this.”

Coup moved closer. “Get over yourself. I’m not leaving you here to become a crispy appetizer.”

She didn’t have time to scold him, to tell him to run , as the phoenix loosed another deafening bellow. Pale flames climbed higher in the sky.

She exhaled through her nose. “Just stay low. Try not to aggravate the phoenix more than you already have.”

Coup shuffled a few paces to her left; a safe distance from the phoenix’s erratic movements. He moved slowly, squatting so he was lower than the phoenix, keeping his gaze downturned.

Kel tossed a few treats to the ground. The phoenix didn’t reach for them, but it did redirect its attention. Slowly, Kel lowered.

The collar lay among the ashes to her right. Her fingers ached to reach for it, but she couldn’t afford any sudden movements.

Squatting lower, she shifted a little, staying in the phoenix’s line of sight.

She crawled to the right so she wasn’t directly between the creature and the waning sun—which could be seen as a threat.

She breathed out in long, hard pants, loud enough that the phoenix could hear.

Shuffling closer to the collar, her breaths turned to whistles, low and even.

She managed a few more low steps before the phoenix turned toward her, narrowing its great, black eyes. It cocked its head. Flames climbed even higher in the sky.

Kel’s calves burned as she crept closer. She changed the pitch of her whistle. A light, familiar flow of notes wove into the air.

It was a wordless tune she’d learned from her father. He’d told Kel that Savita had once sung it to him, years ago. He’d been planting new seedlings in the aviary, humming to himself. Between one moment and the next, Savita had joined his chorus.

Phoenixes so often screeched and squawked. It was only when they felt truly content, free, that they dared sing, with voices said to bring even the Four Alchemists to their knees. Kel used to dream of hearing Savita’s song, though it was a hope she’d buried with her father.

Kel kept whistling, crawling closer. She hoped her singing might show the creature that she was at ease. That she was no threat.