Phoenix (21 page)

NATALIE

AT SOME POINT
during the journey, I slip into a troubled sleep, my dreams filled with images of
Polly. She starts off as my sister, then her gray eyes turn yellow and she becomes
a Wrath Hound, her fangs dripping with venom. I call out to my mother for help, but
she’s not there. Then I remember she’s run away. I’m alone. Slashes appear in the
Polly-Hound’s stomach, spilling her innards across the ground, and suddenly she’s
my sister again, curled up on the cell floor, surrounded by a pool of blood in the
shape of a rose—

The truck hits a pothole, jarring me awake. My legs are aching from being curled up
in a ball all night next to Elijah. His strong arms are wrapped around my waist, his
face nuzzled against the back of my neck. My cheeks are wet. I must have been crying.

“Sleep well?” Ash’s cold voice says close by.

I sit up, alert. Ash is perched on the edge of a nearby crate, dressed in one of the
hooded black winter robes we found with the rest of the supplies. I wonder how long
he’s been watching us.

Elijah stirs and wakes up, yawning loudly. “What time is—”

He stops talking when he sees the thunderous expression on Ash’s face.

Ash tosses two robes at us. “Put these on. We’ve arrived.”

We pull on the long robes just as the truck slows down. Around us I can hear the sounds
of the city: merchants calling out to each other, carts rolling down the street, music
spilling out of taverns. It must be early afternoon—my body clock is all out of sync
after being trapped inside the trailer with no natural light.

Ash lifts the truck door, letting in a welcome blast of cool air, which smells of
spices and herbs. We’re in Thrace’s bustling central market, which puts the one in
Chantilly Lane to shame. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of round buildings
made from red sandstone bricks. Many of the buildings have murals painted on the walls,
so the city is a vision of color. But this isn’t what’s most striking. All the buildings
have elaborately tiered roofs, covered in tiles made from a strange, shimmering metal
I’ve never seen before. It’s highly polished and reflects the light, so the whole
city seems to be glittering, like sunlight on the sea. It’s beautiful.

“I see how Thrace earned the nickname the Mirror City,” I whisper to Elijah.

“They’re solar tiles,” he explains. “It’s how they get their energy. We use them in
Viridis too, but not to this extent.”

Without saying a word, Ash lifts his hood over his head and leaps off the moving truck,
his cloak billowing behind him like phoenix wings. Elijah takes my hand, and we jump
together, landing heavily on the dust tracks.

We hurry away from the truck, getting as much distance from it as possible, and slip
into the crowds of people dressed in corset bustle gowns, jewel-toned frock coats
or vibrantly colored robes. I pull my hood up, disguising myself, as we follow Ash
deeper into the market.

Flags flutter in the cool spring breeze like butterfly wings, bright against the cobalt-blue
sky. Swarthy-skinned traders sing ancient merchant songs as we pass by, which weave
and layer over each other in a beautiful melody, reminding me of birdsong. The whole
place is so joyous and alive. It’s a welcome change from the Barren Lands.

Even so, the farther we go in the maze of alleyways, the more disheartened I feel.
Everywhere I turn, there’s another tavern or inn. Frustratingly, none of the establishments
have a sign hanging over the doorway.

“None of these places are named,” I say. “How are we ever going to find the Moon Star?”

Elijah frowns. “I guess we’ll just have to ask around.”

Occasionally we pass large digital screens on top of wooden platforms scattered throughout
the market. On every single one, the same eight photos are displayed under the words
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
:

Ash

Me

Sigur

Roach

Mother

Beetle

Juno

Day

Thankfully Elijah’s not mentioned, and neither are Harold, Nick or Amy, but none of
them are high-ranking members of the rebellion, or escaped convicts, so that’s probably
why. Sigur’s photo has been crossed out on all of them. News of his capture must have
already spread across the country. Rose didn’t waste any time making that victory
public.
What are they doing to him? Is he even alive?
I pull my hood lower over my face.

“Ash, slow down,” I say a few minutes later, breathless.

Ash stops and waits for me, his eyes glittering like the mirrored roofs around us.
His expression softens when he sees how tired I look. I’m feeling nauseated again,
probably from the overpowering scents of perfumes and spices in the market. He gently
takes my hand. I catch Elijah looking at us, a stung expression on his face. I wish
he hadn’t told me he has a crush on me; it’s made things awkward.

“Are you feeling all right?” Ash asks me.

“I think I have a stomach bug,” I lie. I don’t know how many more excuses I can come
up with before he starts getting suspicious.

He kisses my forehead. It’s a small gesture, but it shatters my heart. I can’t believe
I’m intending to break up with him. I love him so much. But I remind myself that’s
why I have to do it.

“Let’s find somewhere to stay,” Ash says. “There must be a Humans for Unity stronghold
around here somewhere. Keep an eye out for the Cinder Rose emblem on the doors.”

We stroll past the round buildings, casually checking the door frames for any sign
of a burning rose. Each time we pass a tavern, Elijah darts inside and checks to see
if it’s the Moon Star. Each time he returns, shaking his head. We pass stalls selling
spices, sweatshops creating Sentry banners and swordsmiths forging silver-plated weapons,
which are useful against Lupines and Darklings, both of whom have an allergy to the
metal.

Outside one of the market stalls, a Pilgrim of the Purity faith stands on a crate
as he preaches from the Book of Creation. His flock of faithful followers listens,
enraptured, occasionally chiming in with “so sayeth His Mighty.” The Pilgrim has a
shaved head and rose tattoo, just like Sebastian, which is startling enough to look
at, but there’s something else about him that makes me pause. It takes a fraction
of a second for me to realize he’s got these silver halos around his irises. I’ve
never seen anything like that before. It must be some sort of genetic eye condition.

We skirt around the Pilgrims, keeping our heads bowed, and continue to search for
a safe house.

“Let’s look for the Darkling ghetto,” Ash suggests. “Where there are Darklings, Humans
for Unity won’t be far behind.”

I notice a sign for Spice Square. Assuming the Darkling ghetto will be next to the
plaza, like it is in Black City, we head in that direction. Occasionally Ash’s fingers
brush against mine, like he wants to hold hands, but neither of us takes that next
step. It’s like we’re back to when we first met, uncertain about how the other person
feels. As soon as we approach Spice Square, I can tell something’s wrong. A second
later, I hear it: the crack of a whip and the scream of a girl, followed by the laughter
of men.

Ash takes my hand as we enter the plaza. “Stay close.”

The town square is three times bigger than the one in Black City, and at the north
end is a long stone wall, where the Darkling ghetto begins. At the other end is a
stunning, centuries-old building made from red sandstone. It has an ornate façade
and a massive decorative door almost half the height of the building, painted burnt
orange, with a much smaller access door built into it. I recognize the building from
my history books as Thrace City Hall.

In the center of the town square are three Sentry guards, who are beating up a couple
of Dacian kids. Passersby ignore them, not wanting to get involved. The Dacians are
a traveling community who live on the fringes of our society, and they get treated
with even less respect than the Workboots. The first Dacian is a boy who can’t be
more than ten years old, with dark tanned skin, black curly hair and eyes as blue
as the cobalt sky. There’s blood over his face where he’s been punched, while the
second—a teenage girl, around seventeen years old—has had her dress ripped at the
shoulder. Her flowing auburn hair tumbles in waves down her tanned back, the ends
touching the dusty earth. Colorful feathers have been woven into its strands, so she
looks like an exotic bird.

One of the attackers, a shaved-headed man with a broken nose, pins her arms behind
her back while another man thrashes her with a short horsewhip.

“Thieving Dacian scum!” the guard with the horsewhip says. “I’ll teach you to pick
my pocket!”

She spits at the man, cursing at him in some of the most colorful language I’ve ever
heard. Despite her injuries, she struggles against her captors like a wild animal.

A third guard grabs the girl’s face, inspecting it.

“You’re a pretty thing for a peasant,” he says, kissing her.

The sight of the guard roughly kissing the girl makes me think of Sebastian and how
he forced himself on Polly.

“We have to help them,” I say.

“They’ll recognize us,” Ash replies, glancing at our photos on the nearby digital
screen.

The Dacian girl bites the man’s lip, and he staggers back, grunting in pain. She’s
rewarded with a hard slap across the face, which knocks her to the ground.

I wince. “Ash, we have to do something.”

Ash scoops up some dirt from the ground and rubs it around his eyes and down his nose.
Without another word, he strides over to the Sentry guards, his cloak billowing behind
him. Elijah and I race after him.

The people around us continue to go about their business, deliberately keeping their
eyes downcast as they hurry past the Sentry guards. The man with the horsewhip raises
his hand to strike the girl again. Ash grabs his wrist, stopping the swing in midair.
The man flinches.

“Do you know who I am?” Ash growls, his voice low, menacing.

All the color drains out of the man’s face. He shoots a terrified look at his colleagues.

“Phoenix,” the man whispers.

“That’s right,” Ash snarls. “And do you know what I do to people like you?”

The man nods again. He’s obviously heard the rumors from Gallium, where Ash supposedly
killed one hundred guards with his bare fangs.

“Then I suggest you leave this boy and girl alone, or else I may have to”—Ash flashes
his fangs—“make an example of you too.”

Ash releases the guard’s wrist, and the men sprint off.

“You know they’re going to tell everyone we’re here?” Elijah says.

“I’m sure they will,” Ash replies. “So we’d better go find somewhere to hide out.”

Ash helps the boy to his feet, checking his injuries, while I help the girl up. She’s
tall, with an hourglass figure and a striking face: sharp cheekbones, catlike eyes
ringed with black Cinderstone powder and pouting lips painted the color of bronze
coins. Elijah looks her up and down, clearly liking what he sees. I roll my eyes,
feeling a pang of resentment.

“There was no need to get involved; I could’ve handled those guys myself,” the girl
says, wiping the dust off her purple dress.

Well, that’s gratitude for you.

“Are you hurt?” Ash asks.

“I’ll live.” She sticks her hand down her ample cleavage, pulling out a leather pouch
of coins. “But this certainly helps.”

So she did steal that man’s money?
Still, it’s no excuse for beating her.

“Are you really Phoenix?” the boy says.

Ash nods. “And you are?”

“Lucas.”

“And I’m Giselle,” the girl says, openly admiring Ash. “I have to say, those Wanted
photos don’t do you any justice at all.”

Ash rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Lucas laughs. “Giselle always gets these goo-goo eyes when you’re on the news.”

Giselle slaps his arm. “Sshh.”

I possessively take Ash’s hand, already distrusting this girl.

Elijah tilts his head toward the ghetto wall. “I can’t hear any Darklings on the other
side.”

“That’s because they’re all dead,” Giselle explains. “They caught some virus last
year.”

The Wrath has spread to the Provinces already?

Ash frowns.

“How will we repay you?” Giselle asks.

“We need somewhere to rest for the night,” Ash replies.

“I know just the place.” She beams. “I’ll take you to Madame Clara’s.”

NATALIE

GISELLE BECKONS US
to follow her. I hesitate, not trusting her, but the boys don’t seem to share my concerns,
given how willingly they go with her. It reminds me of how the Sentry boys at school
used to chase after Polly. They would do anything she wanted, not that she ever took
advantage of this fact. My sister had the purest heart of anyone I ever knew.

Giselle leads us down a labyrinth of back alleys, which get narrower and darker the
farther into the city we go. The round market buildings are soon behind us, replaced
by narrow brick buildings, their crumbling walls painted vivid reds, purples, blues
and golds. I peer into one of the shop windows, and my skin crawls at the sight of
the sinister objects: monkey heads, jars of frogs, chickens’ feet, snakeskins. Elijah
curls his lip up at them, as grossed out as I am. An uneasy feeling comes over me.
Where’s she taking us?
I tug on Ash’s sleeve.

“I don’t like this,” I whisper to him. “Let’s go back to the market.”

He gives me a kind but slightly patronizing look. “Just because Giselle’s a Dacian
doesn’t mean she’s untrustworthy.”

No, stealing that man’s money is what makes her untrustworthy.
I can’t help but feel he’s being blinded by her beauty. Or maybe . . . maybe it’s
just me, I admit. I don’t like the way she keeps looking over her shoulder at Ash,
flashing him a dazzling smile.

Lucas walks beside us. He’s intrigued by Elijah’s tail, which is just visible beneath
the hem of his robe. The boy keeps grabbing it and laughing when Elijah swats him
away like a pesky fly. It becomes a bit of a game between the two of them, and although
Elijah seems annoyed at the boy, I know from the glint in his eye that it’s just an
act. I think this happens a lot with him when kids are around, remembering how the
little girl we rescued from the Destroyer Ship, Bianca, also played with his tail.

We turn down a side alley, and Giselle stops in front of a violet-colored house with
a tiered roof covered in glimmering solar panels and topped with a weather vane in
the shape of a sun.

“Welcome to Madame Clara’s,” Giselle says, pushing open the black door.

A bell tinkles as we step inside the gloomy shop. The walls are painted the color
of night, with silver stars stenciled on them. There’s a heady smell of incense in
the round room, making my stomach churn. The wooden shelves are packed with leather-bound
books, potions, candles and colorful crystals.

Sitting at a round table in the center of the room is an elderly woman wearing a traditional
folk dress like Giselle’s and heavy silver bands around her wrists. Intricate tattoos
of the ancient zodiac decorate her arms and face.

Her long hair is coarse and gray; her dark olive skin is weathered with wrinkles and
the strange tattoos. She’s wearing a pair of brass-rimmed sun goggles, and she lowers
them. I stifle a gasp as I stare at her eyelids, which have been sewn shut.

She turns her head toward me, and her lips spread into a gold-toothed smile. “Do you
want your palms read? It’s only two coins.”

“They’re not customers,” Giselle says, dropping the pouch of coins on the table. “Clara,
this is Ash Fisher, Natalie Buchanan and—”

“Elijah Theroux,” he says.

“They need a place to stay. They’re hiding from the Sentry,” Giselle explains.

Madame Clara spits at the mention of the Sentry, muttering curses under her breath.
She gets up, struggling slightly with arthritic hips, and waves at us to follow her
into the back room. I soon realize the shop is just a tiny portion of the ramshackle
building, which sprawls over five floors. Every room is painted a different rainbow
color, and there’s a mural running up the stairwell, which was clearly painted by
the ten children who are running about the building, laughing and playing.

Lucas tugs Elijah’s tail and sprints on ahead, wanting to continue their game of cat-and-mouse.
Elijah laughs and races after the boy. The sight makes me smile. I catch Ash looking
at me. He turns away, his expression pained.

“Why are there so many children here?” I ask as we walk up the creaking steps to the
third floor. I can’t imagine they’re Clara’s kids, since she’s too old to be their
mother.

“Madame Clara runs a refuge,” Giselle explains. “All the kids here ran away from home
for one reason or another. She keeps us off the streets.”

That explains why she was pickpocketing earlier. She needs the money to help support
all these children, the same way Ash had to sell Haze to support his father. Madame
Clara shows us to a double room with bare wooden floors and colorful silken fabrics
draped down the blue walls. Directly opposite us are wide bay windows, which lead
out onto a balcony with loads of potted plants. To our right is the bed, which is
covered in a handmade quilt, and to our left is a simple tin bath and sink. It’s not
much, but after many hard nights spent on trains and trucks and in caves, it looks
like heaven.

“For you and Ash,” Madame Clara says to me. “There are dresses in the wardrobe, if
you want to change. Elijah can sleep next door with Lucas and the boys.”

Giselle smiles at Ash. “My room is at the end of the hall, in case you need me.”

She sashays down the corridor after Madame Clara, putting a little extra sway in her
hips. Ash gives a lopsided smirk, enjoying the view. Fury spikes in me, and I mutter
a few rude words as I stomp into the bedroom.

I open up the balcony windows to let in some air, then sit on the bed and take off
my shoes while Ash runs the bath. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since the Barren
Lands, and it feels weird. There’s a wall of tension between us that’s getting higher
by the day. Ash keeps glancing over at me, like he wants to talk to me about something,
but then changes his mind. Nerves fill my stomach, worrying that he’s going to ask
me about the conversation he overheard with me and Elijah, and I don’t know what to
say if he does.

“Natalie?” he finally says.

My tummy flips. “Yes?”

He looks at me with such deep intensity that I feel burnt by his gaze. He must notice
my body tensing, because he looks away.

“Nothing,” he mumbles. “Do you want to wash first?”

“No, you go,” I say.

He pulls the modesty screen across the bath and gets undressed. I catch glimpses of
him through the gaps between the panels—the curve of a biceps, the knot of muscles
on his flat stomach, a naked hip. Yearning aches through me. There’s a splash of water
as he slides into the bath.

A stab of pain shoots through my thighs. I look down and realize I’m digging my nails
into my legs. I quickly get up, feeling flustered. I twist my hair up into a bun,
then pull off my black robe, top and pants, so I’m just in my vest and underpants.
I walk over to the wardrobe and find three gowns inside. I select a folk-style teal
dress, with off-the-shoulder sleeves and little gold coins sewn into the hem of the
pleated skirt. I lay it out on the bed quilt and begin unfastening the mother-of-pearl
buttons.

There’s another splash of water, followed by the sound of footsteps padding across
the wooden floor. I turn around, my heart racing. Ash stands a few inches away from
me. Beads of water snake down his bare torso, sliding past his belly button toward . . .
I swallow, flushing. He stretches out a hand and rests it on my hip. I can’t focus
on anything but those five fingertips pressed against my skin.

He doesn’t do anything for a long moment, just gazes at me, silent and uncertain.
A warm breeze flows through the open balcony windows, stirring his wet hair. Finally,
he pulls me toward him, and dips his head. The kiss is slow, beautiful, intense, and
I’m instantly lost in him. I lace my fingers through his inky hair and draw him closer,
deepening our kiss. The beads of water on his body soak through my cotton vest, making
goose bumps break out across my skin, but I don’t care; all I can focus on is his
hand sliding down my back. It rests above the waistband of my underwear.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, his fingers slipping under the elastic waistband of
my underwear.

I have the Wrath.

The thought slaps me so hard, I stagger back from him, gasping for air.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
How could I be so reckless? I gaze up at him, tears brimming in my eyes.

“What did I do?” he says, his face stricken.

I cover my mouth, trying to stifle the sob that’s going to break out at any second.
How could I be so stupid? I could infect him!

He stands there for a moment, stunned and confused.

“Is it the scars?” he asks quietly.

“No! God, I told you I don’t care about those.” I blink, trying to compose myself.

“Then what is it?”

“I—” I don’t know how to end that sentence.
I have the Wrath, and I’m going to die, and I love you, and I’m going to leave you,
and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

He grabs his clothes off the floor and tugs them on.

I chase after him. “Ash—”

He pushes past me and storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

I sink down on the floor and cry.