CHAPTER ONE
IDALLIA
Today, I turn two hundred and twenty-six, and I look fabulous.
My fitted fighting leathers hug my curves like a second skin, and my new, wider sword belt sits comfortably on my hips while also serving as a clear reminder that I can kill my enemies without breaking a sweat.
Alone in my quarters, I jut out a hip with enough flair to light a forest fire, then draw my new blades and give them an inaugural twirl. They’re almost exactly like my other swords, so it’ll be easy to adjust to their weight and feel. The only real difference is the set of matching jewels embedded in the pommels. The fire opals look just like the sharp, blazing eye of a phoenix about to dive into battle.
Delighted with my birthday presents, I take down my hair, kick off my boots, and dance barefoot through some advanced fighting moves to get a feel for my new belt and blades. My team gave them to me at lunch, and while I shouldn’t wish for a fight, I also can’t wait to try them out. The belt is supple and light, and the swords already feel like old friends in my hands.
Sunlight streams through my high, arched window, too tempting to ignore, and I keep up my battle dance as I move into the puddle of light. Warm stones greet my bare feet, and my long black hair soaks up the sunshine, seeming to nourish me all the way to my veins. A beautiful day, friends, and gifts. Smiling, I lift my face to the rays.
Not yet done playing with my new weapons, I accelerate, spinning and slicing until metal whistles like wind through a crack in a tree. I see past battles and counter the moves of envisioned enemies with learned precision. After a brutal jab at an imagined vampire, I finally bring my mock combat to a close and give my blades a final twirl. The fire opals glint in the sunshine as I flip the swords in my hands and sheathe them with a flourish. They slide into the leather scabbards attached to the belt so easily that I grin.
As far as birthdays go, this is a good one.
At least, it’s the birthday my adoptive parents gave me. I appeared one day on their doorstep at the country house in Glarraden, an infant in a basket with a name pinned to my blanket and a bag of gold so large it could rival the fortunes of any gildenfae. The note in my basket said to take care of me, so they did.
I didn’t want for a thing growing up—neither education nor training in the arts of war—but considering how little Rita and Gerard chose to interact with me, I did feel more loved for the bag of gold coins that mysteriously showed up every year on the summer solstice—Dragon’s Night—than for my sparkling wit or my skill with a sword.
Reflected sunlight winks at me like party candles from the mirror on my dresser, and I dance toward it, humming a tavern tune. I blow myself a birthday kiss, my pinkened nose and cheeks from riding my warbird in the sun and wind intensified by the flush of exercise with my new swords. I smile, remembering how Fyrestar easily outpaced the other phoenixes today—as usual.
Chirps and rustling greet my ears, and I turn to the rocky caverns carved deep into my bedroom wall. “Rim! Sol!” I call, my smile growing. If they’re done resting, we can go outside and enjoy the remainder of the day together.
In just seconds, my phoenixes fly to me, perching on my shoulders. They’re the babies. Or rather, the reborn. At nearly sixteen years old, Rimblaze is a hefty hunk of bird and weighs heavily on my arm. I lost Embersol for the third time only a few years ago, and she can still barely cough up a fireball.
I coo and nuzzle them, stroking their colorful feathers and praising the little flames boiling in their beaks. Pretty soon, Rim will be fully trained and strong enough to come out as my wing guard. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to ride him again. He seems to be growing more slowly this time around, but we all know magic has been waning in Ellonrift for decades and that Cealastra hasn’t seen fit to show her presence and replenish it yet. For little Embersol, battles and carrying me on her back are both still years away, but sometimes, it’s not so bad knowing she’s safe inside the mountain when we go off to protect Torridaig.
“You smell like spices today.” Rim chirps his words into my mind. Is his voice getting deeper? He’s matured so much lately—though not enough to stop squabbling with Sol.
“I had a spicy lunch.” I smooth a rebellious red feather into the orange ones on his forehead. “And a birthday cake.” I don’t know where it came from, but it showed up at the table, just like it does every year with the same regularity that the gold shows up at Glarraden House, even though I’m barely there. The Elite Wing ate most of it, but I still got the part with the candle to blow out. The cake had dark-red rose petals scattered across pearlescent frosting, reminding me of when I slice into enemy vampires on a moonlit winter hillside and drain them of their stolen blood.
“I want cake.” Sol’s baby squeak makes my heart pinch. These two didn’t make it through the battles, but they’re still mine. If my phoenixes couldn’t come back to me, I’d rather die with them.
“I’ll throw some rodents together for you later.” I tilt my head against hers. “But don’t eat too many at once. You know you’ll get a tummy ache.”
The babies’ sharp talons prick my skin, and they caw excitedly as Fyrestar lands on my window frame in a burst of sparks and wind. “You’re in a good mood today.”
I smile at my warbird, his rumbled words resonating in my head. “It’s my birthday.”
“So you think.”
“Someone had to choose a day, so Rita did.”
“Have Rita and Gerard come to visit you recently?”
I give him a bland look. Fyrestar knows very well that they have not. He just likes to remind me, because he thinks I should cut them loose and stop sending them part of my earnings, especially since their chest of gold—so big that everyone in the area started calling it “the gildenfae gold” almost from the very start—still arrives like clockwork every summer solstice. But I’ll inherit Glarraden House one day, because they don’t have anyone else to give it to when they finally fade from existence. I want to help with the upkeep.
I return to Glarraden sometimes, even if the people who raised me never come here. I had a home growing up, and if I survive, I’ll have a home to grow old in where my birds can fly free. They’ll have more than earned their peace by then—far more than I’ll have ever earned mine. Despite the neglect that used to tie my stomach into knots and still comes roaring back with a remembered shock of loneliness more often than I’d like, I don’t have any hard feelings toward Rita or Gerard. They did…okay. And my phoenixes give me all the love I need.
“They haven’t been here since I was inducted into the Elite Wing.” Nearly two centuries might’ve passed, but I’m still the novice of the Dragon King’s personal squadron—the youngest and the last to have been chosen for the team—and everyone loves to remind me of it, especially Kellan. He hates it when I win the privilege of flying on Bale Cinderheart’s right wing.
The thought of Bale makes me both shiver and heat. The potency of the Dragon King reaches me even here, floors and floors below his high lair in the mountain castle. He’s been spending even more time than usual with the Elite Wing, despite the Ellonrift Council coming up soon. I crave his intense presence and dread it at the same time. I want him to look at me as much as I want him to turn away.
“What should we do this afternoon?” I ask my birds. “Survival training? War games against the team?”
“You’re a rainbow of fun,” Fyrestar teases. “Why isn’t a picnic in the woods or a spin over the lake ever an option?”
