The Chronicles of Phoenix Bloodheart I: Turning Red

Chapter IX: Truth and slapsies

Phoenix opens her eyes, the dim light of a nearby candle pooling into her blue irises.

She's in a bed by the wall in the hideout, fully clothed beneath the covers; Seven and Falkor are looking down at her from chairs beside the bed. The orc grunts and moves away, while Falkor makes a loud noise from his disfigured face, catching the attention of the rest of the group.

Phoenix blinks, suddenly feeling very self-aware, and moves to pull the covers further over herself. But they are already above her chin, so she ends up looking like a child hiding from an imaginary monster under the bed. She shuts her eyes and stretches. Her right achilles tendon twinges with pain.

A crowd has soon gathered beside the bed: the two portly dwarves, Django, Falkor and someone else she doesn't recognise: a slim, pale-looking elf with thick black eyebrows and an ugly-looking, basin-style bowl haircut. It's Thirteen. They lock eyes; he tuts at her.

"You ain't no saint, yourself, ya know," Django says to Thirteen, responding to his tutting. "All you knife ears are nuthin' but trouble," he says jokingly.

Thirteen scowls at the troll and walks away.

Phoenix looks up at Falkor, who is on Henry's shoulders. She forces herself to speak to him.

"Thank you, Falkor," she says.

The boy squeals in her direction and smiles.

Trixie notices the exchange and looks pleased. She pushes forwards and the group creates a gap for her to move through. She has removed her scarlet cloak and sword, and is carrying Phoenix's bag of fruit.

"Hey..." she says. "How are you feeling?"

"My leg hurts," Phoenix replies with a groan, her voice deeper and more slurred than usual after waking. She clears her throat. "My right leg."

Trixie says: "Falkor has done what he can, you should be feeling better soon."

Phoenix blurts out with urgency: "The elf! Did he find us?"

Trixie raises her head and her palms and closes her eyes. She says: "All taken care of."

"But did he?" Phoenix starts.

"All taken care of," Trixie repeats with assurance without going into specifics.

She pauses and leans towards Phoenix, speaking low: "I don't think we've been entirely honest, have we? I think we need to talk."

Phoenix looks back at the goblin, expressionless, and reacts with a few little nods. Nerves creep into the pit of her stomach.

Trixie turns to the others and says: "Leave us."

Most of them return to the table, except Falkor, who joins Seven in the far corner. Phoenix thinks it's strange that two beings so different from one another would congregate together like that. Django lingers a little while longer and looks at Phoenix with concern, before lifting the two chairs and walking back to the table to play some card games with the dwarves.

Trixe sits on the bed next to Phoenix and pushes her back towards the wall, before bringing her knees up and placing the bag of fruit between the two of them. She sighs and passes her hip flask to Phoenix, who reaches out and takes it, reluctantly. She takes off the lid and sniffs it apprehensively. Trixie chuckles.

"Rum. To bring you some calm," she smiles. "You know, you're lucky Falkor is here, and that you didn't bump your head when you fell," Trixie says in hushed tones, keeping the conversation away from the others in the room.

Phoenix leans up in bed, takes a swig of the rum and swishes it around her mouth before swallowing, feeling the mild burn of the strong alcohol as it trickles down inside her. She hasn't drunk since working at the inn - it feels good to try a tipple again.