Memories of Ash (The Sunbolt Chronicles Book 2) (47 page)

“What now?” I ask him, leaning against the wall.

He selects a key and slides it into the lock. “Now we meet your other ally.”

My stomach gives an unpleasant lurch. “Who?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and friendly. His eyes glint gold in the sudden fall of moonlight as he steps outside and glances back at me. “Did you have another you managed to omit mentioning to the Council?”

I keep my response measured as I follow him onto a rooftop garden of potted plants and benches and unlit glowstone lamps. “I was under a truth spell.”

“I think the Council gravely underestimated your ability to tell them only a part of the truths they sought.”

“You overestimate my cunning.”

“I doubt that,” he replies, coming to a stop before an ornately wrought bench. “You mentioned the Degaths to me before the trial. I went to see them.”

“Did you?” What did I say about the Degaths during the hearing? Surely nothing beyond what had happened in Karolene? In which case, if they admitted seeing me….

He grins. “They were excessively courteous, their story as to their escape from Karolene matched your account, and they were grieved to hear that you had survived only to be caught aiding what they termed a ‘political’ prisoner. They assured me that they knew nothing further of you, and so I left.”

I know very well this isn’t the end of his story.

“I went to a public garden, as I’d told the Degaths I might,” Osman Bey goes on. “Perhaps a half hour later, I was joined by a creature I never imagined I would have the honor of meeting.”

“The phoenix,” I breathe.

His lips quirk. He knows as well as I that it wasn’t a coincidence, but it’s not one I want to explain. Instead, I say, “You told him I’ve been marked.”

Osman Bey nods, squatting beside the bench. He pulls out a cloth bag left beneath it. “He was not pleased.”

No, the phoenix would not have been. I doubt I’ll be much good to him without the ability to use my magic. Osman Bey extracts a bundle of rope attached to a wooden slat from the cloth bag, as if he’s said all he needs to. “But?” I say hopefully.

“But,” he agrees and sets about arranging the rope. It isn’t until he stands and slides a loop over my head that I realize what it is: a harness for me to ride in. The phoenix still wants me, perhaps because I haven’t been bound yet. Or perhaps to make a point to the Council. Either way, I’m grateful.

Osman Bey helps me fit a loop of cloth-padded rope under my hips, creating a seat of sorts. Then he wraps another rope tightly around my waist, tying me in. I am thankful for this, for the care he is taking so that the phoenix does not have to lift me by my shoulders, jar my injured arm. I watch Osman Bey’s bent head, the bright white of his turban, the faint shine of moonlight on his leather armor.

“Why are you doing this?”

He sits back on his heels. “Are the reasons I’ve given you not enough?”

“You’re breaking their laws.” He knows this as well as I. I simply can’t quite grasp the
why
of it. Stormwind had been innocent, and I had helped her, but that is hardly convincing enough grounds for the lycan guard to not only break their oaths to the High Council but break me out as well.

He pushes himself upright, looks out over the rooftops and then back at me. “You’ve traveled the Burnt Lands,” he says. “You should know precisely why we do not give our loyalty blindly, nor remain with those who have betrayed us.”

Remembering the dark creatures that had chased me, I do.

“I also know perfectly well that I should be dead. You did not simply spare my life in that fight. You saved it.”

I look away, pushing aside thoughts of killing, and Val, and breathers, and the breath my life is built on.

“By your own testimony, you could have destroyed half my guard that night with a single spell. You refrained, knowing you would pay the price for it.”

A life debt — a whole host of life debts. I can hardly look at him anymore. I wanted his help. I told him what I did when he visited my room precisely to sway him to help me, impossible as it seemed. But I did not want this, to twist his actions because of a debt he owed me. Returning a life for a life is a good philosophy, but not when it forces you to give up your honor.

“I see.” My voice is small in the space between us.

“No, I don’t think you do.” Osman Bey shifts, and I look back at him without thinking. “You’ve already been punished for your crimes. When we discussed it, we agreed we could not send you into slavery as well, or something worse than that. And considering what the mages of the past have done, we are grateful to leave our post before causing more harm than we have already.”

“Thank you,” I manage.

He shakes his head. “Look there.” He points toward the far side of the roof. Gliding down from the starry dark comes the phoenix. He flies without his fire tonight, only the soft gleam of moonlight on his feathers suggesting he is more than a mere bird.

As the phoenix circles around, Osman Bey holds up the looped top of the rope sling — it’s wound through a short length of wood, making the perfect grip for the phoenix’s talons. “Hold tight.”

His body tenses. I grip the ropes at my side, careful not to raise my right hand too high.

“Run far, run fast, keep the wind in your hair,” Osman Bey murmurs. The words have the sound of a traditional farewell. I open my mouth, unsure how to respond, and catch the amusement in his golden wolf’s eyes.

“
Peace be upon you,
” I say.

Then the phoenix’s talons close on the wooden slat, and Osman Bey darts aside. The ropes snap tight, swinging me upward into the air. I grip the rope with all my strength, my arm flaring with pain. We hurtle across the rooftop, narrowly missing the potted plants on either side of the path. I curl my legs up beneath me, watching helplessly as we careen toward the low wall edging the rooftop.

A pillow of air wraps around me, buoying me upwards, and the phoenix’s flight smooths out, wingbeats lengthening as he uses his magic to ease my weight. Together, we soar upwards, passing over the sleeping Mekteb to freedom.

The city slides by below us in a series of moonlit rooftops, glowstone-lit streets and darkened windows. The squares lie open and empty, the Festival now a thing of the past. Eventually, the crowded city buildings give way to houses with wide gardens, and then small farms, the land growing dark with crops.

We begin to descend, low boundary walls and bushes gliding by below us. The phoenix spreads his wings, slowing as we enter a date palm grove. We brush past the feathery tips of palm fronds, descending between long thick trunks. My feet touch down and I take a few running steps, stumbling over the uneven dirt underfoot. The phoenix releases the harness’s slat and flaps past to land a few paces away.

I stand a moment, the sling still hanging off of me, and listen to the night, the soft rustle of the breeze through the palm fronds. It’s a beautiful sound, gentle and free.

“Hitomi.” Kenta walks toward me, a glowstone lantern in his hand. In its light, his face is hard, expression closed.

I look down at the knot binding the sling to me. “Hey.”

My fingers, clumsy from the cold of my flight, struggle to undo the knot.

Kenta sets down the lantern. “Here.” He pushes my hands away and with a few deft tugs loosens the remaining ropes so the sling slides down my legs.

“The ward,” the phoenix reminds him.

Kenta slips a leather cord from his pocket and thrusts it at me. A pendant dangles from it: a circle of obsidian, hollowed out at the center.

Taking it, I run my fingers over the faint carving tracing its way around the center. “This is powerful,” I murmur, the magic within it tingling at my fingertips. It’s a warding stone strong enough to block perhaps even the most powerful traces the Council might put on me — assuming they can find something of mine to use. I can only hope Brightsong disposed of my bloody clothing.

Kenta clears his throat. “It seems the Degaths take their debt to you very seriously. That’s been in their family for generations. Lady Saira sent one for you and its mate for Stormwind.”

I slide it over my head awkwardly. I can’t lift my right arm very high without considerable pain, but I manage it. I’m rewarded with a comfortable brush of magic over my skin that fades almost at once.

“How bad is it? Your wound?” Kenta asks.

“It’s healing,” I say, which is neither here nor there.

“Will you be able to travel?”

I nod, aware of how much he isn’t saying, how hard he’s trying to act like he isn’t furious with me.

“We must move quickly,” the phoenix says. “The search for you will start within moments. They will shut the city down looking for you.” Which is why he flew me right out of it, no doubt. “Once they realize you have left the city, they will widen their search. We must use this time wisely.”

I kneel so that I’m eye-to-eye with the phoenix, my legs steady again. “I don’t know why you helped me now, after I’ve been marked, but I will do my best by the work you ask of me.”

He cants his head to the side, eyeing me keenly as he resettles his wings. “You have not been bound yet?”

“No.”

“I am glad the lycan had that right. You are still able to manipulate magic, which is something. Though it would be better, now, if you had a full mage to assist you.”

Any full mage who came along to “assist” me would likely only be assisting my magic right out of me.

“You still have the feather?” he asks.

“No. They took it from me.”

The phoenix eyes me with displeasure. “That was not well done.”

“It wasn’t my choice.”

He ruffles his feathers, then bends to comb through them with his beak. Without a word, he offers me a new feather, small but burnished bright.

“Travel to the Burnt Lands as quickly as you can. When you reach its borders, call me.”

“I will.”

The phoenix spares a glance for Kenta. “See that she reaches the desert safely.”

Kenta nods gravely. “I will.”

A moment later
,
the phoenix is gone, winging away between the palm trunks and up through their fronds, the rope sling swinging along beneath him. I expect he’ll drop it somewhere far away as a decoy for those who hunt me.

Kenta stands quiet and tense beside me.

“I thought the Shadow League wasn’t operating here,” I quip.

“And I thought you understood you were to get out,” Kenta snaps.

I flinch away from his anger. He ducks his head, abashed, takes a step back.

“I tried,” I tell him. “I really did. But I would’ve had to kill someone to escape, and I couldn’t.” I study his face, the press of his lips, the tightness around his eyes, looking for some sign of comprehension. He gives a jerk of his chin. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “If I could have gotten away without blood on my hands, I would have.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “And now?” he asks. “What will you do with what’s on your hands?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I was just trying to help Stormwind. Now Blackflame has the High Council.” I pull my sleeve up, baring the full markings to Kenta’s gaze. “And I have this.”

He studies the dark designs in the lantern light. “You should add some color.”

“What?”

“Add color,” he repeats, touching a swirl. My arm twitches at the brush of his fingers on my skin, as if I were expecting it to hurt. He withdraws his hand at once. “Markings are always black, and they’re rarely beautiful. Add a bit of colored ink and only a mage who comes close enough to touch them will know what they are.”

“That’s … brilliant.”

Kenta smirks. “Of course it is. It’s my idea.”

I shake my head at him, amused.

“Let’s move.”

I fall into step with him, the lantern lighting our way. “What are you planning next for yourself?”

He raises his brows. “I’m coming with you. Considering your propensity for nearly getting killed, I think you’ll need me.”

“No.” I’m surprised by how light this decision is, how much more I understand of Kenta now. Behind his words is the truth of his emotions: the guilt he still feels for letting me protect him in Karolene, for nearly dying for him.

“You need to return to the city,” I say gently.

“The Ghost will kill me if he knows you survived and I sent you off to fend for yourself, rogue-hunting mages on your trail and your magic all bound up inside of you.”

“Don’t tell him. Or don’t go back to Karolene.”

“What do you expect me to do instead?”

“Start another Shadow League here. Now that Blackflame presides over the High Council, he’ll give up his position as Arch Mage of Karolene — or rather, he’ll appoint someone to take over for him there. If we want to stop him, and not merely stop what he’s doing in Karolene, then the Shadow League needs to follow the High Council.”

Kenta rubs his mouth. “I don’t know how we’re going to stop him.”

“I was under a truth spell for my trial. I told the Council about the Degaths. They’ll relaunch their investigation into Blackflame. Just because he’s first mage doesn’t mean he’s protected from that.”

We reach the edge of the palm orchard. Kenta turns to look at me, eyes dancing. “You didn’t.”