She reluctantly answers, “Five days.”
I snap my mouth shut. This prolonged lack of Cealastra’s magic-replenishing eclipses is affecting us all now. Going by past experiences, healing should’ve taken a day for Fyrestar and a maximum of three for me.
Rim lifts his head, his tawny eyes reflecting my worry back at me. The phoenixes all have amber eyes like their maker, except for Fyrestar. His golden eyes match mine. “Embersol hopped around in Fyrestar’s feathers from dawn till dusk,” he mutters. “I’m sure that didn’t help.”
Sol chirps. “Not hop. Comfort.”
My heart melting, I smooth her little feathers as she heats with indignation, fluffing out her wings to puff herself up.
Sybil’s soft chuckle ends the budding quarrel. “I love watching you talk to your birds.”
I smile over at her. “Thanks for being patient. It must be strange to only hear half the conversation.” Scolding a little, I tell my birds, “You could let Sybil hear what you say, you know. She’s family too.”
Sybil just laughs again before the phoenixes can respond. “Don’t worry about it. They only have eyes for you, and it’s become a bit of a game for me to try to guess what’s going on. I hear one part and try to fill in the blanks.”
“But they’re much more interesting than I am,” I protest.
Her dry look could send Torridaig into drought. “Idallia, my dear, you highly underestimate yourself.”
“Okay, I’m fabulous,” I say just as dryly.
Instead of the smile I expect, she shakes her head, looking irritated. “Why do you always say things like that? You are fabulous. And yet all you can see is that you’re different. Who am I? What am I?” She looks upset, even angry, and I go utterly still, staring at her in shock. We don’t fight. We never have. I make sure of it, because I don’t want to regret some stupid argument when she’s gone and there’s no going back. “So what if you don’t know who your parents are, or why you can’t shift or glamour or do whatever else people do in Ellonrift? Your dream has been to fit in, but maybe it’s better to stand out. Just be you.”
“Oh, it sure was fun standing out at school.” I don’t want this to escalate, but my anger is rising, too, along with the memories of being ostracized, tormented, and ridiculed. And before that, I was simply alone.
“Who cares about school? That was nearly two centuries ago.” Sybil swipes her hand through the air, making the water still in her glass slosh to the rim. “You’re always wondering why Bale chose you for the final position on the Elite Wing. It’s because he’s smart, and he’s got an eye for what he needs.”
I snort. “He didn’t need me. I know I can fight—and fight well—but a dragon shifter can literally chomp a weretiger in half with one bite. It’s not the same.”
“What about Bloodwold vampires?” Her hard look pins me in place. “Firebreath doesn’t kill them like it used to, and fights come down to people and their blades. That makes you the best.”
Sometimes. When I can release that thunderclap inside me and focus my senses, moving so fast that I streak through the air. Unfortunately, it doesn’t happen on command. Or often, at all.
I blink and see blood splattering across a moonlit sky. There are severed heads on the ground. Everything is dark and there are no specific landmarks, so I don’t know if the sudden flash is something old, or something still to come. “Not better than Bale,” I mutter.
She waves a hand again, this time more careful of the water in her glass. Her ire seems to wash away with the movement, her features softening once more. “It’s not just about someone who can fight. Bale Cinderheart has legions of soldiers all over Torridaig for that. You unify. The Elite Wing fights hard for each other, and for all of us, but do you know who they’ll fight for the hardest?”
“Bale,” I say automatically.
She shakes her head. “You. They’ll slash, burn, and claw through anything to make sure you live through a fight. That means they win. Always and no matter what.”
I stare at her, my stomach sinking. “No wonder I almost always end up in the middle of the formation. They’re bodyguarding me.” Especially Maia and Arran. There’s no way Arran couldn’t regularly take a more prestigious position if he tried.
“No, don’t think of it that way. And it’s not as if you can’t hold your own in a fight.”
“Oh, great. So I’m a cause?”
“Stop taking this all wrong,” she grumbles, setting her glass down with a thump. Her gaze shifts to the birds on my bed. “And your phoenixes? It’s not like with the others, either. They’re friends, allies, companions. But you four…You’re fused in this circular mix of parent and child. I don’t know who’s who half the time, but you’re a family.”
Emotion jerks inside me, a rope pulling tight and anchoring me to my phoenixes. Rita and Gerard might’ve let me go without a backward glance, but I stopped caring the second my birds replaced them and offered a thousand times more than they ever did. “And?” I ask, the word a little shaky.
“If you want to label it—fine,” Sybil says. “You’re their cause. Just like they’re yours.”
They are, aren’t they? My birds. My team. There’s no length I wouldn’t go to. I would burn down worlds.
I exhale loudly, shaking my head. “I’m five times your age. How are you so wise?”
“Let’s not exaggerate. More like four and a half.” She grins. “And humans mature faster. We have to. We have fewer years.”
